A  LADY   OF   ROME 


A  LADY  OF  ROME 


BY 
F.    MARION    CRAWFORD 

AUTHOR    OF    u  SARACINESCA,"     "FAIR    MARGARET,"    ETC. 


g0rfe 
THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

LONDON:  MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LTD. 

1906 

All  rights  reserved 
OF  THE 

EH 

•• 


COPYRIGHT,  1906, 
BY  THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.    Published  October,  1906. 


Nortooob 

J.  S.  Gushing  &  Co.  —  Berwick  <fe  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


CONTENTS 
PART    I 


MARIA 

PART    II 
THE  COUNTESS  OF  MONTALTO 


PART   I 

MARIA 


CHAPTER  I 

MARIA  MONTALTO  was  dressed  as  a  Neapolitan  Acquaiola 
and  kept  the  lemonade  stall  at  the  Kermess  in  Villa 
Borghese.  The  villa  has  lately  changed  its  official 
name,  and  not  for  the  first  time  in  its  history,  but  it 
will  take  as  long  to  accustom  Romans  to  speak  of  it  as 
Villa  Umberto  as  it  once  did  before  they  could  give  up 
calling  it  Villa  Cenci.  For  the  modern  Romans  are 
conservative  people,  who  look  with  contempt  or  in 
difference  on  the  changes  of  nomenclature  which  are 
imposed  from  time  to  time  by  their  municipal  repre 
sentatives. 

The  lady  was  selling  iced  lemonade,  syrup  of  almonds, 
and  tamarind  to  the  smart  and  the  vulgar,  the  just  and 
the  unjust  alike;  and  her  dress  consisted  of  a  crimson 
silk  skirt  embroidered  with  gold  lace,  a  close-fitting  low 
bodice  that  matched  it  more  or  less  and  confined  the 
fine  linen  she  wore,  which  was  a  little  open  at  the  throat 
and  was  picked  up  with  red  ribband  at  the  elbows, 
besides  being  embroidered  in  the  old-fashioned  Neapoli 
tan  way.  She  had  a  handsome  string  of  pink  corals 
round  her  neck,  Sicilian  gold  earrings  hung  at  her  ears, 
and  a  crimson  silk  handkerchief  was  tied  over  her  dark 
hair  with  a  knot  behind  her  head. 

She  was  very  good-looking,  and  every  one  said  the 

3 


A    LADY   OF   ROMP]  PART  i 

costume  was  becoming  to  her;  and  as  she  was  not  at 
all  vain,  she  enjoyed  her  little  success  of  prettiness 
very  much.  After  all,  she  was  barely  seven-and- 
twenty  and  had  a  right  to  look  five  years  younger  in  a 
fancy  dress.  She  was  not  really  a  widow,  though  many 
of  her  friends  had  fallen  into  the  habit  of  treating  her 
as  if  she  were.  It  was  seven  years  since  Montalto  had 
left  her  and  had  gone  to  live  with  his  mother  in  Spain. 

They  had  only  lived  together  two  years  when  he  had 
gone  away,  and  observant  people  said  that  Maria  had 
not  grown  a  day  older  since,  whereas  they  had  noticed 
a  very  great  change  in  her  appearance  soon  after  she 
had  been  married.  It  was  quite  absurd  that  at  twenty 
she  should  have  had  a  little  patch  of  grey  by  her  left 
temple  just  where  the  dark  hair  waved  naturally.  At 
that  rate  we  should  all  be  old  at  thirty. 

The  observant  ones  had  noticed  another  odd  thing 
about  Maria  Montalto.  Her  girl  friends  remembered 
especially  a  certain  fearless  look  in  her  eyes,  which  were 
not  black,  though  they  were  almost  too  dark  to  be  called 
brown,  and  used  to  be  most  wonderfully  full  of  warm 
light  in  her  girlhood.  But  she  had  not  been  married 
many  months,  perhaps  not  many  weeks,  when  a  great 
change  had  come  into  them,  and  instead  of  fearlessness 
her  friends  had  seen  the  very  opposite  in  them,  a  look 
of  continual  terror,  a  haunted  look,  the  look  of  a  woman 
who  lives  in  perpetual  dread  of  a  terrible  catastrophe. 
It  had  been  there  before  her  boy  was  born,  and  it  was 
there  afterwards;  later  she  had  been  ill  for  some  time, 
after  which  Montalto  had  gone  away,  and  since  that 
day  her  eyes  had  changed  again. 


CHAP,  i  MARIA  O 

There  was  no  terror  in  them  now,  but  there  was  the 
perpetual  remembrance  of  something  that  had  hurt 
very  much.  I  once  knew  a  man  who  had  been  tor 
tured  by  savages  for  twenty-four  hours,  and  his  eyes 
had  that  same  expression  ever  afterwards.  In  the 
Middle  Ages,  when  torture  was  the  common  instru 
ment  of  the  law,  many  persons  must  have  gone  about 
with  that  memory  of  suffering  in  their  eyes,  plain  for 
every  one  to  see.  Maria  looked  as  if  she  had  under 
gone  bodily  torture,  which  she  remembered,  but  no 
longer  feared. 

After  all,  her  trouble  had  left  no  lines  in  her  young 
features,  nor  anything  but  that  singular  expression  of 
her  eyes  and  that  tiny  patch  of  white  in  her  hair.  Her 
face  was  rather  pale,  but  with  that  delicious  warm 
pallor  which  often  goes  with  perfect  health  in  dark 
people  of  the  more  refined  type,  and  the  crimson  ker 
chief  certainly  set  it  off  very  well,  as  the  corals  did,  too, 
and  the  queer  little  Sicilian  earrings. 

The  booth  was  gaily  decorated  with  fresh  oranges 
and  lemons  still  hanging  on  their  branches  with  fresh 
green  leaves,  and  with  many  little  coloured  flags;  the 
small  swinging  'trumone'  in  which  the  water  was  iced 
hung  in  a  yoke  of  polished  brass,  and  the  bright  glasses 
and  the  bottles  of  syrup  stood  near  Maria's  hand  on 
the  shining  metal  counter. 

It  was  a  very  delicately  made  hand,  but  it  did  not 
look  weak,  and  it  moved  quickly  and  deftly  among  the 
glasses  without  any  useless  clatter  or  unnecessary 
spilling  and  splashing  of  water.  Hands,  like  faces, 


6  A    LADY  OF   ROME  PART  i 

have  expressions,  and  the  difference  is  that  the  expres 
sion  of  the  hand  changes  but  little  in  many  years.  No 
artist  could  have  glanced  at  Maria's  without  feeling 
that  it  had  a  sad  look  about  it,  a  something  regretful 
and  tender  which  would  have  made  any  manly  man  wish 
to  take  it  in  his  and  comfort  it. 

The  people  who  came  to  the  booth  gave  silver  for  a 
glass  of  lemonade,  and  some  gave  gold,  and  many  of 
them  told  Maria  plainly  that  she  was  the  prettiest  sight 
in  all  the  great  fair.  Most  of  those  who  came  had 
never  seen  her  before  in  their  lives  and  had  no  idea 
who  she  was,  though  her  name  was  one  of  those  great 
ones  that  every  Roman  knows. 

A  handsome  young  bricklayer  who  had  paid  a  franc 
for  a  glass  of  syrup  of  almonds,  and  who  had  boldly 
told  Maria  that  she  was  the  beauty  of  the  day,  asked  a 
policeman  her  name. 

'The  Contessa  di  Montalto.' 

The  young  man  looked  pleased,  for  he  had  secretly 
hoped  to  hear  that  she  was  nothing  less  than  a  Savelli 
or  a  Frangipane;  not  at  all  for  the  sake  of  boasting  that 
he  had  received  his  glass  from  such  very  superior  hands, 
but  only  for  the  honour  of  Rome.  Yet  though  the 
name  was  familiar  to  him  because  he  knew  where  the 
palace  was,  he  had  imagined  that  the  family  had  died 
out. 

'Which  is  this  Montalto?'  he  asked. 

The  policeman  could  not  answer  the  question,  and 
his  official  face  was  like  a  stone  mask.  But  the  brick 
layer  had  a  friend  who  was  engaged  to  marry  a  semp- 


CHAP,  i  MARIA  7 

stress  who  worked  for  a  smart  dressmaker,  and  there 
fore  knew  all  about  society ;  and  in  the  course  of  time 
he  found  the  two  walking  about,  and  offered  to  pay 
for  lemonade  if  they  would  come  to  the  booth  with 
him.  They  were  not  thirsty,  and  thanked  him  politely, 
so  he  asked  the  young  woman  who  this  Contessa  di 
Montalto  might  be.  She  threw  up  her  eyes  with  an  air 
of  compassion. 

'  Ah,  poor  lady ! '  she  cried.  '  That  is  a  long  story, 
for  she  has  been  alone  these  seven  years  since  her  hus 
band  left  her.  He  was  a  barbarian,  a  man  without 
heart,  to  leave  her!  Was  it  her  fault  if  she  had  loved 
some  one  else  before  she  was  married  to  him  ? ' 

'Adelina  is  a  socialist/  observed  the  young  woman's 
betrothed,  with  a  laugh.  'She  believes  in  free  love! 
It  is  all  very  well  now,  my  heart/  he  added,  looking  at 
her  with  adoring  eyes,  'but  after  we  have  been  to  the 
Capitol  you  shall  be  a  conservative.' 

'Oh,  indeed?  I  suppose  you  will  beat  me  if  I  look 
at  your  friend  here?'  She  pretended  to  be  angry. 

'No.  I  am  not  a  barbarian  like  the  Conte  di  Mont- 
alto.  But  I  will  cut  off  your  little  head  with  a  hand 
saw/ 

He  was  a  carpenter.  There  were  Romans  of  all 
sorts  in  the  Villa,  the  smart  and  the  vulgar,  the  rich 
and  the  poor,  and  the  rich  man  who  felt  poor  because 
he  had  lost  a  few  thousands  at  cards,  and  the  poor  man 
who  felt  rich  because  he  had  won  twenty  francs  at  the 
public  lottery.  The  high  and  mighty  were  there, 
buzzing  about  royalties  on  foot,  and  there  were  the 


A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  I 

lowly  and  meek,  eating  cheap  cakes  under  the  stone 
pines  and  looking  on  from  a  distance.  There  were  also 
some  of  the  low  who  were  not  meek  at  all,  but  exces 
sively  cheeky  because  they  had  been  told  that  all  men 
are  equal,  and  had  paid  their  money  at  the  gate  in  order 
to  prove  the  fact  by  jostling  their  betters  and  staring 
insolently  at  modest  girls  whose  fathers  chanced  to  be 
gentlemen.  These  youngsters  could  be  easily  distin 
guished  by  their  small  pot  hats  stuck  on  one  side,  their 
red  ties,  and  their  unhealthy  faces. 

At  some  distance  from  Maria  Montalto's  booth  there 
was  another,  where  a  number  of  Roman  ladies  chanced 
to  have  met  just  then  and  were  discussing  their  friends. 
Most  of  them  had  a  genuinely  good  word  for  Maria. 

'I  have  not  seen  her  in  colours  since  her  boy  was 
born,'  said  the  elderly  Princess  Campodonico.  'She 
is  positively  adorable  ! ' 

'What  is  her  story,  mother?'  asked  the  Princess's 
daughter,  a  slim  and  rather  prim  damsel  of  seventeen. 

'Her  story,  my  dear?'  inquired  the  lady  with  a  sort 
of  stony  stare.  'What  in  the  world  can  you  mean?' 
She  turned  to  a  friend  as  stout,  as  high-born,  and  as 
cool  as  herself.  'I  hear  you  have  ordered  a  faster 
motor  car,'  she  said. 

The  slim  girl  was  used  to  her  mother's  danger  signals, 
and  she  turned  where  she  stood  and  looked  wistfully 
and  curiously  at  Maria  di  Montalto,  who  was  some 
twenty  yards  away. 

'As  if  I  were  not  old  enough  to  hear  anything!'  the 
young  lady  was  saying  to  herself. 


CHAP,  i  MARIA  9 

Then  she  was  aware  that  the  two  elder  women  were 
talking  in  an  undertone,  and  not  at  all  about  motor 
cars. 

'He  is  in  Rome/  she  heard  her  mother  say.  'Gian- 
forte  saw  him  yesterday/  Gianforte  was  the  Princess's 
husband. 

1  Do  you  mean  to  say  he  has  the  courage  to  - 
began  the  other. 

1  Or  the  insolence/  suggested  the  first. 

Then  both  saw  that  the  girl  was  listening,  and  they 
at  once  talked  of  other  things.  There  is  an  age  at 
which  almost  every  half-grown-up  girl  is  figuratively 
always  at  an  imaginary  keyhole  ready  to  surprise  a 
long-suspected  secret,  though  often  innocently  uncon 
scious  of  her  own  alert  curiosity.  This  seems  to  have 
been  the  attitude  of  Eve  herself  when  she  met  the  Ser 
pent,  and  though  we  are  told  that  Adam  was  much 
distressed  at  the  consequences  of  the  interview,  there 
is  no  mention  of  any  regret  or  penitence  on  the  part  of 
his  more  enterprising  mate. 

So  the  slim  and  prim  Angelica  Campodonico,  aged 
barely  seventeen,  wondered  what  Maria  Montalto's 
story  might  be,  and  just  then  she  felt  the  strongest 
possible  desire  to  go  over  to  the  lemonade  booth  to  tell 
the  pretty  Countess  confidentially  that  'he'  was  in 
Rome,  whoever  'he'  was,  and  to  see  how  the  lady 
would  behave.  Would  she  think  that  his  coming 
showed  'courage'  or  'insolence'?  It  was  all  intensely 
interesting,  and  the  girl  would  have  been  bitterly  dis 
appointed  if  she  could  have  known  that  within  twenty 


10  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  i 

minutes  of  her  going  away  '  he '  would  actually  be  present 
and  would  have  the  insolence  —  or  the  courage  !  —  to 
go  directly  to  the  Countess  of  Montalto's  booth  and 
speak  to  her  under  the  very  eyes  of  society.  Unhappily 
for  the  satisfaction  of  Angelica's  curiosity  her  mother 
took  her  away,  and  it  was  a  long  time  befoie  she  learned 
the  truth  about  Maria. 

The  Countess  was  not  alone  in  her  booth;  indeed, 
she  could  not  have  done  the  manual  work  without  a 
good  deal  of  help,  for  at  times  there  had  been  a  dozen 
people  standing  before  her  little  counter,  all  impatient 
and  thirsty,  and  all  ready  to  pay  an  exorbitant  price 
for  even  a  glass  of  water,  in  the  name  of  charity.  There 
fore  she  not  only  had  one  of  her  own  servants  at  work, 
out  of  sight  in  the  little  tent  behind  her,  but  several  men 
who  were  more  or  less  friends  of  hers  had  succeeded 
each  other  as  her  assistants  during  the  long  afternoon. 
They  belonged  to  the  younger  generation  of  Romans, 
a  set  of  young  men  whom  their  parents  certainly  never 
dreamt  that  they  were  rearing  and  whom  their  grand 
fathers  and  grandmothers  count  with  the  sons  of  Belial, 
largely  because  they  love  their  country  better  than  the 
decrepit  and  forlorn  traditions  of  other  days.  Forty 
years  ago  it  would  not  have  occurred  to  a  Roman 
gentleman  to  call  himself  an  Italian,  but  to-day  most  of 
his  children  call  themselves  Italians  first  and  Romans 
afterwards,  and  to  these  younger  ones  Italy  is  a  great 
reality.  It  is  true  that  Romans  have  not  lost  their 
dislike  of  the  inhabitants  of  almost  all  other  Italian 
cities,  whether  of  the  south  or  the  north.  The  Roman 


CHAP.    I 


MARIA  11 


dislikes  the  Neapolitan,  the  Piedmontese  and  the 
Bolognese  with  small  difference  of  degree,  and  very 
much  as  they  and  the  rest  all  dislike  each  other.  Italy 
has  its  sects,  like  Christianity,  which  mostly  live  on 
bad  terms  with  each  other  when  forcibly  brought  to 
gether  in  peaceable  private  life  —  like  Presbyterians, 
Methodists,  Anglicans,  and  Baptists,  not  to  mention 
Roman  Catholics.  But  as  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  all 
Christians  would  unite  against  an  inroad  of  heathens, 
so  it  is  quite  certain  that  all  Italians  would  now  stand 
loyally  together  for  their  country  against  any  enemy 
that  should  try  to  dismember  it.  No  one  who  can  recall 
the  old  time  before  the  unification  can  help  seeing  what 
has  been  built  up.  It  is  a  good  thing,  it  is  a  monument 
in  the  history  of  a  race;  as  it  grows,  the  petty  land 
marks  of  past  politics  disappear  in  the  distance,  to  be 
forgotten,  or  at  least  forgiven,  and  the  mountain  of 
what  Italy  has  accomplished  stands  out  boldly  in  the 
political  geography  of  modern  Europe. 

Moreover,  those  who  are  too  young  to  have  helped 
in  the  work  are  nevertheless  proud  of  wrhat  has  been 
done;  and  this  is  itself  a  form  of  patriotism  that  brings 
with  it  the  honest  and  good  hope  of  doing  something 
in  the  near  future  not  unworthy  of  what  was  well  done 
in  the  recent  past. 

The  young  men  who  helped  Maria  Montalto  to  mix 
lemonade  and  almond  syrup  for  her  stall  were  of  this 
generation,  all  between  twenty  and  thirty  years  old, 
and  mostly  of  those  who  follow  the  line  of  least  resist 
ance  from  the  start  of  life  to  the  finish.  They  are  all 


12  A    LADY    OF   ROME  PART  i 

easily  amused,  because  in  their  hearts  they  wish  to  be 
amused,  and  for  the  same  reason  they  are  easily  bored 
when  there  is  no  amusement  at  all  in  the  air.  They 
are  not  bad  fellows,  they  are  often  good  sportsmen, 
and  they  are  generally  not  at  all  vicious.  They  are 
not  particularly  good,  it  is  true,  but  then  they  are  very 
far  from  bad.  They  have  less  time  for  flirting  and 
general  mischief  than  their  fathers  had,  because  it  now 
seems  to  be  necessary  to  spend  many  hours  of  each  day 
in  a  high-speed  motor  car,  which  is  not  conducive  to 
the  growth  and  blooming  of  the  passion  flower.  It 
does  not  promote  the  development  of  the  intelligence 
either,  but  that  is  a  secondary  consideration  with  people 
who  need  never  know  that  they  have  minds.  Morally, 
motoring  is  probably  a  good  rather  than  an  evil.  People 
who  live  in  constant  danger  of  their  lives  are  usually 
much  more  honest  and  fearless  than  those  who  dawdle 
through  an  existence  of  uneventful  safety.  The  soldier 
in  time  of  peace  was  the  butt  and  laughing-stock  of  the 
ancients  in  the  comedies  of  Plautus  and  Terence,  and 
of  the  Greeks,  whom  those  playwrights  copied  or 
adapted,  but  no  such  contemptuous  use  has  ever  been 
made  of  the  sailor,  whose  life  is  in  danger  half  a  dozen 
times  in  every  year. 

Oderisio  Boccapaduli  was  squeezing  a  lemon  into  a 
glass  for  Maria  when  he  saw  her  hand  shake  as  if  it  had 
been  struck,  and  the  spoon  which  she  was  going  to  use 
for  putting  the  powdered  sugar  into  the  glass  fell  from 
her  fingers  upon  the  metal  counter  with  a  sharp  clatter. 
Oderisio  glanced  sideways  at  her  face  without  interrupt- 


CHAP,  i  MARIA  13 

ing  the  squeezing  of  the  lemon,  and  he  saw  that  the 
characteristic  warmth  had  disappeared  all  at  once 
from  her  natural  pallor  and  that  her  white  cheeks 
looked  as  cold  as  if  she  were  in  an  ague.  She  was  look 
ing  down  when  she  took  up  the  spoon  again  and  drew 
the  polished  brass  sugar-can  nearer  to  her.  The  young 
man  was  quite  sure  that  something  had  happened  to 
disturb  her,  and  he  could  only  suppose  that  she  felt 
suddenly  tired  and  ill,  or  else  that  some  one  had 
appeared  in  sight  not  far  from  the  booth,  whose  pres 
ence  was  unexpected  and  disagreeable  enough  to  give 
her  a  bad  shock. 

But  he  knew  much  more  about  her  than  Angelica 
Campodonico,  for  he  was  six-and-twenty,  and  had  been 
seventeen  himself  when  Maria  had  married,  and  nine 
teen  when  Montalto  had  left  her;  and  since  he  had 
finished  his  military  service  and  had  been  at  large  in 
society  he  had  learned  pretty  much  all  that  could  be 
known  about  people  who  belonged  to  his  set.  He 
therefore  scrutinised  the  faces  in  the  near  distance,  and 
presently  he  saw  one  which  he  had  not  seen  in  Rome 
for  several  years;  once  more  he  glanced  sideways  at 
Maria,  and  her  hand  was  unsteady  as  she  gave  the  full 
glass  to  a  respectable  old  gentleman  who  was  waiting 
for  it  in  an  attitude  of  admiration. 

The  face  was  that  of  a  man  who  was  Oderisio's  cousin 
in  a  not  very  distant  degree,  and  who  bore  the  honour 
able  and  historical  name  of  Baldassare  del  Castiglione. 
He  was  looking  straight  at  Maria  and  was  coming 
slowly  towards  her. 


14  A    LADY    OF    KOMI']  PART  I 

Then  Oderisio,  who  was  an  honest  gentleman,  saw 
that  something  unpleasant  was  going  to  happen,  and 
on  pretence  of  bringing  fresh  glasses  from  behind  the 
booth,  he  slipped  under  the  curtain  into  the  tent;  but  in 
stead  of  getting  the  tumblers  he  quietly  took  his  hat 
and  stick  and  went  away,  telling  the  servant  that  he 
would  send  his  brother  or  a  friend  to  help  the  Contessa, 
as  he  was  obliged  to  go  home.  Moreover,  he  carefully 
avoided  passing  in  front  of  the  booth  lest  Maria  should 
think  that  he  was  watching  her,  and  he  went  off  to 
another  part  of  the  Kermess. 

Meanwhile  the  old  gentleman  drank  his  lemonade, 
and  it  chanced  that  no  other  customer  was  at  the 
counter  when  Castiglione  reached  it  and  took  off  his 
hat.  He  was  a  square-shouldered  man  of  thirty  or  a 
little  less,  with  short  and  thick  brown  hair  and  a  rather 
heavy  moustache,  such  as  is  often  affected  by  cavalry 
men;  his  healthy,  sunburnt  face  made  his  rather  hard 
eyes  look  very  blue,  and  the  well-shaped  aquiline  nose 
of  the  martial  type,  with  the  solid  square  jaw,  conveyed 
the  impression  that  he  was  a  born  fighting  man,  easily 
roused  and  soon  dangerous,  somewhat  lawless  and  vio 
lent  by  nature,  but  brave  and  straightforward. 

He  took  off  his  hat  and  bowed  as  he  came  up,  neither 
stiffly  nor  at  all  familiarly,  but  precisely  as  he  would 
have  bowed  to  ninety-nine  women  out  of  a  hundred 
whom  he  knew.  He  did  not  put  out  his  hand,  and  he 
did  not  speak  for  a  moment,  apparently  meaning  to 
give  Maria  a  chance  to  say  something. 

Her  hand  was  no  longer  shaking  now,  but  the  warmth 


MARIA  15 

had  not  come  back  to  her  face,  and  when  she  slowly 
looked  up  and  met  the  man's  eyes  her  own  were  coldly 
resentful.  She  did  not  speak;  she  merely  met  his  look 
steadily,  by  an  effort  of  will  which  he  was  far  from 
understanding  at  the  moment. 

'I  have  left  Milan  on  a  fortnight's  leave/  he  said 
quietly.  '  Will  you  let  me  come  and  see  you  ? ' 

'Certainly  not.' 

The  decided  answer  was  given  in  a  voice  as  calm  as 
his  own,  but  the  tone  would  have  convinced  most  men 
that  there  was  to  be  no  appeal  from  the  direct  refusal. 
Castiglione's  features  hardened  and  his  jaw  seemed 
more  square  than  ever.  There  was  a  look  of  brutal 
strength  in  his  face  at  that  moment,  though  his  voice 
was  gentle  when  he  spoke. 

'Have  you  never  thought  of  forgiving  me?'  he  asked. 

'I  have  prayed  that  I  might.'  Maria  fixed  her  eyes 
fearlessly  on  his. 

'But  your  prayer  has  not  been  answered,  I  suppose/ 
he  said,  with  some  contempt,  and  with  an  evident  lack 
of  belief  in  the  efficacy  of  prayer  in  general. 

'No/  Maria  answered.  'God  has  not  yet  granted 
what  I  ask  every  day.' 

Castiglione  looked  at  her  still.  It  was  strange  that 
the  face  of  such  a  man  should  be  capable  of  many 
shades  of  expression,  so  subtle  that  only  a  portrait 
painter  of  genius  could  have  defined  them  and  repro 
duced  any  one  of  them,  while  most  men  would  hardly 
have  noticed  them  all.  Yet  every  woman  with  whom  he 
talked  felt  that  his  face  often  said  more  than  his  words. 


16  A    LADY    OF   ROMP]  PART  i 

The  keen  blue  light  in  his  eyes  softened  at  Maria's 
simple  answer  to  his  contemptuous  speech ;  the  strength 
was  in  his  face  still,  but  without  the  brutality.  She 
saw,  and  remembered  why  she  had  loved  him  too  well, 
and  when  he  spoke  she  turned  away  lest  she  should 
remember  more. 

'I  beg  your  pardon  for  what  I  said.  I  am  sorry. 
Please  forgive  me.' 

'  Yes/  she  answered,  'I  can  forgive  that,  for  you  did 
not  mean  it.' 

She  looked  behind  her,  for  she  had  been  expecting 
Oderisio  to  come  back  at  any  moment.  The  booth  was 
so  small  that  she  could  lift  the  curtain  without  leaving 
the  counter.  She  looked  under  it  and  saw  that  Oderisio 
was  gone,  and  she  guessed  that  he  knew  something  and 
had  seen  Castiglione  coming;  instead  of  being  grateful 
to  him  for  leaving  her,  she  at  first  resented  his  going 
away  and  bit  her  lip ;  for  she  was  a  very  womanly  woman, 
and  every  woman  is  annoyed  that  any  man  should  know 
any  secret  of  hers  which  she  has  not  told  him.  But 
later,  when  she  was  thinking  over  what  had  happened, 
she  felt  that  Oderisio  had  done  what  a  gentleman  should, 
according  to  his  lights;  for  he  must  have  known  that  the 
two  had  not  seen  each  other  for  years,  and  that  such  a 
meeting  could  hardly  take  place  without  some  show  of 
feeling  on  one  side  or  the  other. 

Castiglione  thanked  her  gently  for  her  answer,  and 
was  going  to  say  more,  but  she  interrupted  him,  and 
suddenly  began  to  busy  herself  with  a  lemon  and  a 
glass. 


CHAP.   I 


MARIA  17 


'I  am  making  you  a  lemonade/  she  said  in  a  low 
voice.  'There  are  some  people  we  know  coming  to 
the  booth.  Do  not  turn  round  to  look/ 

The  new-comers  were  two  rather  young  women  and 
a  man  who  was  not  the  husband  of  either.  Castiglione 
knew  them  too,  as  Maria  was  well  aware,  and  she  would 
not  have  let  them  find  him  there,  talking  to  her,  without 
so  much  as  a  lemonade  for  an  excuse. 

But  the  necessity  for  the  small  artifice,  the  low  tone 
in  which  she  had  been  obliged  to  speak,  and,  above  all, 
the  close  connection  of  that  necessity  with  the  past, 
had  slightly  changed  the  situation. 

'I  shall  go  to  your  house  to-morrow  at  three  o'clock/ 
said  Castiglione  in  a  tone  which  the  approaching  party 
could  not  possibly  have  heard.  'Not  much  sugar,  if 
you  please/  he  added  very  audibly  and  without  paus 
ing  a  second. 

Again  she  bit  her  lip  a  little,  and  she  drew  a  short 
breath  which  he  heard,  and  she  shook  her  head,  but  it 
was  impossible  to  answer  him  otherwise,  for  the  three 
new-comers  were  close  to  the  booth,  and  a  moment 
later  they  were  greeting  her  and  Castiglione.  The  man 
was  one  of  the  now  numerous  Saracinesca  tribe,  a 
married  son  of  the  gigantic  old  Marchese  di  San  Giacinto, 
who  was  still  alive,  and  who  had  married  Flavia  Mon- 
tevarchi  nearly  forty  years  earlier.  His  companions 
were  the  Marchesa  di  Parenzo,  the  Roman  wife  of  a 
gentleman  of  Bologna,  and  Donna  Teresa  Crescenzi, 
whose  wild  husband  had  been  killed  in  a  motor-car 
accident  at  last,  and  who  was  supposed  to  be  looking 


18  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  i 

for  another.  The  Marchesa  di  Parcnzo  was  Maria 
Montalto's  most  faithful  friend,  and  Donna  Teresa  was 
one  of  the  most  accomplished  gossips  in  Rome. 

An  accomplished  gossip  is  one  who  tells  stories 
which  sound  as  if  they  might  be  true.  This  kind  is 
very  dangerous. 

Neither  of  these  two  ladies  knew  all  the  truth  about 
Maria  and  Castiglione;  the  difference  between  them 
was  that  the  Marchesa  never  talked  of  the  story,  whereas 
Donna  Teresa  had  concocted  a  tale  which  she  repeated 
at  intervals  in  the  course  of  years,  with  constantly  in 
creasing  precision  of  detail  and  dramatic  sequence, 
till  society  had  almost  accepted  it  as  an  accurate  account 
of  what  had  taken  place. 

In  actual  fact  there  was  not  a  word  of  truth  in  it, 
except  that  Maria  and  Castiglione  had  loved  each 
other  dearly.  Donna  Teresa  was  a  tolerably  good- 
natured  woman  on  the  whole,  however,  and  her  story 
gave  Maria  credit  for  the  most  splendid  self-sacrifice 
and  the  most  saintly  life;  it  represented  Baldassare  del 
Castiglione  as  a  hero  worthy  of  his  knightly  ancestor 
and  a  perfect  Galahad,  so  far  as  Maria  was  concerned; 
and  it  threw  every  particle  of  the  blame  on  Montalto, 
who  had  left  his  wife  to  go  and  live  in  Spain,  and  wras 
therefore  permanently  enrolled  amongst  those  absent 
friends  whose  healths  are  drunk  at  family  gatherings 
with  a  secret  prayer  that  they  may  remain  absent  for 
ever,  and  whose  characters  may  be  torn  to  rags  and 
tatters  with  perfect  safety. 

Donna  Teresa  had  reached  the  point  of  believing  her 


CHAP    i  MARIA 


19 


own  story.  She  said  she  had  been  present  at  almost 
every  crisis  in  the  two  years'  drama  which  had  so  com 
pletely  separated  three  people  that  they  apparently 
meant  never  to  set  eyes  on  one  another  again ;  she  had 
consoled  the  lovers,  she  had  inspired  them  with  courage 
to  sacrifice  themselves,  and  had  metaphorically  dried 
their  scalding  tears;  and  she  had  spoken  her  mind  to 
that  monster  of  brutality,  the  Count  of  Montalto.  In 
fact,  she  had  contributed  to  his  determination  to  go 
away  for  ever  and  to  leave  his  poor  young  wife  to  bring 
up  his  son  in  peace. 

Maria  knew  Donna  Teresa's  story  well,  for  her  friend 
Giuliana  Parenzo  had  told  it  to  her;  and  as  Maria  was 
in  no  way  called  upon  to  make  a  public  denial  of  it,  she 
simply  said  nothing  and  was  grateful  to  the  gossip  for 
treating  her  so  kindly.  Giuliana  was  not  curious,  and 
if  she  rightly  guessed  some  part  of  the  secret  which  her 
friend  had  never  told  her,  she  would  riot  for  worlds 
have  asked  her  a  question. 

The  three  new-comers  were  all  in  the  best  possible 
humour,  and  the  ladies  wore  perfectly  new  spring 
frocks  of  the  very  becoming  model  that  was  in  fashion 
that  spring;  the  one  was  of  the  palest  grey  and  the 
other  of  the  softest  dove-colour.  Giuliana  was  a  dark 
woman  with  a  quiet  face;  Teresa  Crescenzi  was  very 
fair,  fairer,  perhaps,  than  all  probability,  and  when  she 
was  excited  she  screamed. 

'  Dear  Maria ! '  she  cried  in  a  high  key,  after  the  first 
words  of  greeting.  'You  are  quite  adorable  in  that 
costume!  The  Princess  Campodonico  was  saying  just 


20  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  i 

now  that  it  is  a  real  pleasure  to  see  you  in  colours  at 
last.  Maria  has  worn  nothing  but  black  and  grey  for 
seven  years/  added  the  lively  lady,  turning  to  Cas 
tiglione. 

'We  all  are  dying  of  thirst/  said  Giuliana,  seeing  the 
look  of  annoyance  in  her  friend's  face.  'We  all  want 
lemonade,  and  we  all  want  it  at  once.  Won't  you  let 
me  come  inside  and  help  you?' 

'No,  dear/  answered  Maria  with  a  grateful  look. 
'I  really  do  not  need  help,  and  you  do  not  look  at  all 
like  a  Neapolitan  Acquaiola  in  that  frock !  Besides, 
Oderisio  Boccapaduli  is  supposed  to  be  my  adjutant, 
but  he  has  gone  off  to  smoke  a  cigarette.' 

She  was  very  busy,  and  Donna  Teresa  turned  to 
Castiglione. 

'And  where  in  the  world  have  you  been  since  I  met 
you  in  Florence  last  year?'  she  asked.  'I  thought  your 
regiment  was  coming  to  Rome  at  the  beginning  of  the 
winter.  I  am  sure  you  told  me  so.' 

'You  are  quite  right.  My  old  regiment  came  to 
Rome  before  Christmas,  but  I  had  already  exchanged 
into  another.' 

In  spite  of  herself  Maria  glanced  at  Castiglione  as  he 
spoke,  but  he  was  not  looking  at  her,  nor  even  at  Donna 
Teresa.  From  the  place  where  the  booth  was  situated 
he  could  see  a  certain  clump  of  ilex-trees  that  grow  near 
what  has  always  been  called  the  Piazza  di  Siena,  I 
know  not  why.  Maria  saw  that  his  eyes  were  fixed  on 
that  point,  and  she  shivered  a  little,  as  if  she  felt  cold. 

'Why  did  you  exchange?'  Donna  Teresa  asked,  with 


CHAP,  i  MARIA  21 

the  shameless  directness  of  a  thoroughly  inquisitive 
woman.  'Did  you  quarrel  with  your  colonel,  or  fight 
a  duel  with  a  brother  officer?7 

Castiglione  smiled  and  looked  at  her. 

'Oh,  no!  Nothing  so  serious!  It  was  only  because 
I  was  sure  that  you  no  longer  loved  me,  dear  Teresa  !' 

The  younger  generation  of  Romans,  who  have  grown 
up  more  gregariously  than  their  parents  did,  very 
generally  call  each  other  by  their  first  names.  Even 
Giuliana  laughed  at  Castiglione's  answer,  and  Maria 
herself  smiled  quite  naturally.  Five  minutes  earlier 
she  would  not  have  believed  that  anything  could  make 
her  smile  while  he  stood  there,  and  she  was  displeased 
with  herself  for  being  amused.  It  was  as  if  she  had 
yielded  a  little  where  she  meant  never  to  yield 
again. 

Donna  Teresa  herself  laughed  louder  than  Giuliana. 

'The  impertinence  of  the  man!'  she  screamed.  'As 
if  I  did  not  know  that  curiosity  is  my  besetting  sin, 
without  being  reminded  of  it  in  that  brutal  way !  I, 
love  you,  Balduccio  ?  I  detest  you !  You  are  an 
odious  man ! ' 

'  You  see ! '  he  answered.  1 1  was  quite  right  to  ex 
change  !  And  since  you  admit  that  you  find  me  odious, 
this  is  an  excellent  moment  for  me  to  go  away ! ' 

He  put  down  a  gold  piece  on  the  metal  counter  to 
pay  for  the  lemonade  which  he  had  not  drunk,  for  he 
was  a  poor  man  and  could  not  afford  to  be  mean.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  the  lemonade  which  Maria  had  so  hastily 
begun  to  make  for  him  had  been  finished  for  Teresa 


A    LADY    OF    ROME 

Crescenzi,  but  no  one  had  noticed  that,  and  it  was  all 
for  charity. 

Donna  Teresa  protested  that  it  was  atrocious  of  him 
to  go  array,  but  he  was  quite  unmoved.  •  He  only 
smiled  at  everybody,  took  young  Saracinesca's  out 
stretched  hand  and  lifted  his  hat  in  a  vague  way  to  the 
three  ladies  without  looking  particularly  at  any  of 
them.  Then  he  turned  and  went  off  at  a  leisurely  pace, 
and  soon  disappeared  in  the  crowd.  Teresa  watched 
Maria  Montalto's  face  narrowly,  but  she  could  not 
detect  the  slightest  change  of  expression  in  it,  either  of 
disappointment  or  of  satisfaction.  Maria  had  recovered 
herself  and  the  sweet  warmth  was  in  her  pale  cheeks 
again. 

The  spring  sun  was  low  and  golden,  ami  for  a  few 
moments  the  pretty  scene  took  more  colour;  by  some 
inexplicable  law  of  nature  the  many  laughing  voices 
rang  more  musically  as  the  light  grew  richer,  just  be 
fore  it  began  to  fade.  It  was  the  last  day  of  the  fair, 
and  Maria  knew  that  she  should  never  forget  it. 

Then  the  chill  came  that  always  falls  just  before  sun 
set  in  Rome,  and  the  people  felt  it  and  began  to  hurry 
away.  No  one  would  ask  for  another  lemonade  now. 

Before  Maria  went  home  she  put  the  money  she  had 
taken  into  a  rather  shabby  grey  velvet  bag.  For  a 
few  moments  she  stood  still,  watching  the  fast-diminish 
ing  crowd  in  the  distance  and  the  changing  light  on  the 
trunks  of  the  pines.  Then  her  eyes  fell  unawares  on 
the  ilexes,  and  she  started  and  instantly  bent  down  her 
head  so  as  not  to  see  them,  and  her  hands  tightened  a 


CHAP,  i  MARIA  23 

little  on  the  old  velvet  bag  she  held.  Without  looking 
up  again  she  turned  and  went  under  the  curtain  to  the 
back  of  the  booth  where  her  footman  was  waiting  with 
a  long  cloak  that  quite  hid  her  pretty  costume ;  and  she 
covered  her  head  and  the  crimson  kerchief  with  a  thick 
black  lace  veil,  arid  went  away  towards  the  avenue 
where  her  brougham  was  waiting. 

Just  before  she  reached  it,  and  as  if  quite  by  accident, 
Oderisio  Boccapaduli  came  strolling  by.  He  helped 
her  to  get  in  and  begged  her  to  excuse  him  if  he  had  not 
come  back  to  the  booth  before  she  had  left  it,  adding 
that  he  had  met  his  mother,  which  was  quite  true,  and 
that  she  had  detained  him,  which  was  a  stretch  of  his 
imagination. 

'Get  in  with  me/  Maria  answered  as  he  stood  at  the 
open  door  of  the  carriage.  'If  you  are  going  away,  too, 
I  will  take  you  into  town  and  drop  you  wherever  you 
like.' 

He  thanked  her  and  accepted  the  invitation  with 
alacrity,  though  he  wondered  why  it  was  given.  He 
could  not  have  understood  that  she  was  physically 
afraid  to  be  alone  with  her  memory  just  then. 


CHAPTER  II 

MARIA  asked  her  friend  Giuliana  Parenzo  to  lunch  with 
her  the  next  day.  If  Baldassare  Castiglione  came  at 
three  o'clock,  and  if  it  seemed  wiser  not  to  refuse  him 
the  door  outright,  he  should  at  least  not  find  her  alone. 

The  Countess  occupied  one  floor  of  a  rather  small 
house  in  the  broad  Via  San  Martino,  near  the  railway 
station.  It  was  a  sunny  apartment,  furnished  very 
simply  but  very  prettily.  After  her  husband  had  left 
her  she  had  declined  to  accept  any  allowance  from  him 
and  had  moved  out  of  the  old  palace,  in  which  the  state 
apartment  was  now  shut  up,  while  the  rest  of  the  great 
building  was  now  occupied  by  a  cardinal,  an  insurance 
company,  and  a  rich  Chicago  widow.  Maria  lived  on 
her  own  fortune,  which  was  not  large,  but  was  enough, 
as  she  had  been  an  only  child  and  both  her  parents 
were  dead. 

Giuliana  sat  on  her  right  at  the  small  square  table, 
and  on  her  left  was  seated  a  sturdy  boy  over  eight 
years  old,  and  lately  promoted  to  sailor's  clothes. 
Why  are  all  boys  now  supposed  to  go  to  sea  between 
six  and  eight  or  nine,  or  even  until  ten  and  twelve  ? 

Leone  was  a  handsome  child.  He  had  thick  brown 
hair  and  a  fair  complexion;  his  bright  blue  eyes  flashed 
when  he  was  in  a  rage,  as  he  frequently  was,  and  his 

24 


CHAP,  ii  MARIA  25 

jaw  was  already  square  and  strong.  Maria  was  the  only 
person  who  could  manage  him,  and  was  apparently  the 
only  one  to  whom  he  could  become  attached.  He  be 
haved  very  well  with  Giuliana  Parenzo ;  but  though  she 
did  her  best  to  make  him  fond  of  her,  she  was  quite 
well  aware  that  she  never  succeeded  in  obtaining  any 
thing  more  from  him  than  a  kind  of  amusing  boyish 
civility  and  polite  toleration.  As  for  nurses,  he  had 
made  the  lives  of  several  of  them  so  miserable  that  they 
would  not  stay  in  the  house,  and  Maria  had  now  eman 
cipated  him  from  women,  greatly  to  his  delight.  He 
submitted  with  a  tolerably  good  grace  to  being  dressed 
and  taken  to  walk  by  a  faithful  old  man-servant  who 
had  been  with  Maria's  father  before  she  had  been  born. 
He  was  not  what  is  commonly  known  as  a  'naughty 
boy';  he  spoke  the  truth  fearlessly,  and  did  not  seek 
delight  in  torturing  animals  or  insects;  but  his  inde 
pendence  and  his  power  of  resistance,  passive  and 
active,  were  amazing  for  such  a  small  boy,  and  he 
seemed  not  to  understand  what  danger  was.  Maria  did 
not  remember  that  he  had  ever  cried,  either,  even  when 
he  was  in  arms.  Altogether,  at  the  age  of  eight,  Leone 
di  Montalto  was  a  personage  with  whom  it  was  neces 
sary  to  reckon. 

Maria  knew  that  she  loved  him  almost  to  the  verge 
of  weakness,  but  she  would  notf  have  been  the  woman 
she  was  if  she  had  been  carried  beyond  that  limit.  He 
was  all  she  had  left  in  life,  and  so  far  as  lay  in  her  she 
meant  that  he  should  be  a  Christian  gentleman.  Nature 
seemed  to  have  made  him  without  fear;  and  Maria 


26  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  i 

would  have  him  reach  a  man's  estate  without  reproach. 
It  was  not  going  to  be  easy,  but  she  was  determined  to 
succeed.  It  was  the  least  she  could  do  to  atone  for  her 
one  great  fault. 

Without  reproach  he  should  grow  up,  for  his  very 
being  was  a  reproach  to  her.  That  was  the  bitterest 
thing  in  her  lonely  existence,  that  the  sight  of  what  she 
loved  best,  and  in  the  best  way,  should  always  remind 
her  of  the  blot  in  her  own  life,  of  that  moment  of  half- 
consenting  weakness  when  she  had  been  at  the  mercy  of 
a  desperate,  daring,  ruthless  man  whom  she  could  not 
help  loving.  It  was  cruel  that  her  only  great  consola 
tion,  the  one  living  creature  on  whom  she  had  a  right 
to  bestow  every  care  and  thought  of  her  loving  heart, 
should  for  ever  call  up  the  vision  of  her  one  and  only 
real  sin. 

There  were  moments  when  the  mother's  devotion  to 
her  child  felt  like  a  real  temptation,  when  she  asked 
herself  in  self-torment  whether  it  was  all  for  the  boy 
alone,  or  whether  some  part  of  it  was  not  for  that 
which  should  never  be,  for  what  she  had  fought  so  hard 
to  thrust  out  of  her  heart  since  the  day  when  she  had 
married  Montalto,  seven  years  ago.  For  she  had  loved 
Castiglione  even  then,  and  before  that,  when  she  had 
been  barely  seventeen  and  he  but  twenty,  and  they 
had  danced  together  one  autumn  evening  at  the  Villa 
Montalto,  at  a  sort  of  party  that  had  not  been  considered 
a  real  party,  and  to  which  her  mother  had  taken  her 
because  she  wished  to  go  to  it  herself,  or  perhaps  be 
cause  she  wanted  Montalto  to  see  her  pretty  daughter 


CHAP,  ii  MARIA  27 

and  fall  in  love  with  her  before  she  was  out  of  the 
schoolroom. 

And  that  was  what  had  happened.  It  had  all  been 
fated  from  the  first.  On  that  very  night  Montalto  fell 
in  love  with  her,  and  she  with  Baldassare  del  Castiglione, 
whom  she  had  called  Balduccio,  and  who  had  called  her 
Maria,  ever  since  they  had  known  each  other  as  little 
children.  On  that  night  she  had  felt  that  he  was  a  man, 
and  no  longer  a  boy.  It  was  the  first  time  she  had  seen 
him  in  his  new  officer's  uniform,  for  it  was  not  a  week 
since  he  had  got  his  commission.  But  she  had  hardly 
known  Montalto,  who  had  been  brought  up  much  more 
in  Spain  and  Belgium  than  in  Rome,  because  his  mother 
was  Spanish  and  his  father  had  been  a  block  of  the  old 
school,  who  feared  the  (godless)  education  of  modern 
Italy. 

Giuliana  Parenzo  was  a  year  or  two  older  than  Maria, 
and  the  latter  had  felt  for  her  the  boundless  admiration 
which  very  young  girls  sometimes  have  for  those  slightly 
older  ones  in  whom  they  see  their  ideals.  Giuliana  had 
been  a  thoroughly  good  girl,  had  married  happily,  was  a 
thoroughly  good  wife,  and  was  the  conscientious  mother 
of  five  children;  but  she  was  very  far  from  being  the 
saintly  heroine  her  friend's  imagination  had  made  of  her. 

She  was  morally  lucky.  Without  in  the  least  de 
preciating  the  intrinsic  value  of  her  virtue,  it  is  quite 
fair  to  ask  what  she  might  have  done  if  she  had  ever 
been  placed  in  the  same  situation  as  her  friend.  But 
this  never  happened  to  her,  though  she  was  apparently 
not  without  those  gifts  and  qualities  that  suggest  enter- 


28  A    LADY    OF   ROME  PART  i 

prise  on  the  part  of  admirers.  She  had  been  a  very 
pretty  girl,  and  in  spite  of  much  uneventful  happiness 
and  five  children  she  was  considered  to  be  a  beautiful 
woman  at  nine-and-twenty ;  and,  moreover,  she  was 
extremely  smart.  In  looks  she  was  not  at  all  like  a 
rigid  Roman  matron. 

But  temptation  had  not  come  her  way ;  it  had  passed 
by  on  the  other  side,  and  she  could  hardly  understand 
how  it  could  exist  for  others,  since  it  certainly  had  never 
existed  for  her.  There  are  people  who  go  through  life 
without  accidents ;  they  cross  the  ocean  in  utterly  rotten 
steamers  without  knowing  of  the  danger,  they  travel  in 
the  last  train  that  runs  before  the  one  that  is  wrecked, 
they  go  out  in  high-speed  motors  with  rash  amateur 
chauffeurs  who  are  killed  the  very  next  day,  they  leave 
the  doomed  city  on  the  eve  of  the  great  earthquake,  and 
the  theatre  five  minutes  before  the  fire  breaks  out. 

Similarly,  there  are  women  who  are  morally  so  lucky 
that  an  accident  to  their  souls  is  almost  an  impossibility. 
Giuliana  Parcnzo  was  one  of  them,  and  Maria's  affec 
tion  gave  her  credit  for  strength  because  she  had  never 
faced  a  storm.  Not  that  it  mattered  much,  after  all. 
The  important  thing  was  that  Maria,  even  at  the  worst 
crisis  of  her  young  life,  had  always  looked  upon  her 
spotless  friend  as  her  guide  and  her  ideal.  Yet  there 
had  been  a  time  when  it  would  have  been  only  too  easy 
for  her  to  look  another  way. 

To-day  Maria  had  turned  to  Giuliana  naturally  in 
her  difficulty.  It  was  hardly  a  trouble  yet,  but  Cas- 
tiglione's  return  and  his  intended  visit  were  the  first 


CHAP.   II 


MARIA  29 


incidents  that  had  disturbed  her  outwardly  peaceful 
life  in  all  the  seven  years  that  had  passed  since  her 
husband  had  left  Rome.  The  rest  had  been  within  her. 

It  would  not  last  long.  Castiglione  had  said  that  he 
had  only  a  fortnight's  leave,  and  with  the  most  moderate 
desire  to  avoid  him,  she  need  not  meet  him  more  than 
two  or  three  times  while  he  was  in  Rome.  To  refuse 
to  receive  him  once  would  perhaps  look  to  him  like  fear 
or  weakness,  and  she  believed  that  she  was  strong  and 
brave;  yet  she  did  not  wish  to  see  him  alone,  not  be 
cause  she  was  afraid  of  him,  but  because  to  be  alone 
with  him  a  few  moments,  even  as  she  had  been  yester 
day  afternoon,  brought  the  past  too  near,  and  it  hurt 
her. 

Giuliana  often  lunched  with  her  friend,  and  was  far 
from  suspecting  that  she  had  been  asked  for  a  special 
reason  to-day.  The  two  talked  of  indifferent  matters, 
much  as  usual,  and  presently  went  into  the  drawing- 
room.  It  was  warm  already,  and  the  blinds  were  closed 
to  keep  out  the  blazing  sunlight  and  the  reflection 
from  the  white  street.  The  friends  sat  near  each  other, 
exchanging  a  few  words  now  and  then,  and  both  were 
preoccupied,  which  hindered  each  from  noticing  that 
the  other  was  so. 

Leone  knelt  on  a  chair  at  the  window  looking  down 
into  the  street  between  the  slits  of  the  green  blinds. 

1  Summer  is  coming!'  he  suddenly  called  out,  turning 
to  look  at  his  mother. 

'Yes,'  she  answered,  smiling  at  him  merely  because 
he  spoke.  'It  will  come  soon.' 


30  A    LADY    OF    ROMK  PART  i 

'But  do  you  know  why?  There  are  two  bersaglieri 
in  linen  trousers.' 

'Yes,  dear.     They  have  probably  been  drilling.' 

'No/  answered  the  small  boy.  'They  have  no  knap 
sacks  and  no  rifles,  and  they  are  not  dusty.  It  is  be 
cause  summer  is  coining  that  they  wear  linen  trousers. 
I  can't  see  them  any  more.  They  walk  so  fast,  you 
know.  When  shall  I  be  a  bersagliere,  mama?' 

'Would  you  not  rather  be  a  sailor?'  asked  Giuliana. 

'Oil.  no!'  Leone  laughed.  'A  sailor?  To  sit  inside 
an  iron  box  and  shoot  off  guns  at  other  iron  boxes? 
That's  not  fighting !  But  the  bersaglieri,  they  charge 
the  enemy  and  kill  them  with  their  bayonets.  And 
sometimes  they  are  killed  themselves.  But  that 
doesn't  matter,  for  they  have  had  the  glory ! ' 

'What  glory?1  inquired  Maria,  watching  the  small 
boy's  flashing  eyes. 

'  They  kill  the  enemies  of  Italy,'  he  answered.  '  That's 
glory ! ' 

He  turned  to  look  through  the  blinds  again,  doubt 
less  in  the  hope  of  seeing  more  soldiers. 

'Your  son  certainly  has  a  warlike  disposition,  my 
dear,'  laughed  Giuliana. 

But  Maria  did  not  laugh;  on  the  contrary,  she  looked 
rather  grave. 

'All  boys  want  to  be  soldiers,'  she  answered.  'I'm 
sure  yours  do,  too!' 

'No/  said  Giuliana,  rising.  'My  boys  are  almost 
too  peaceable !  I  sometimes  wish  they  had  more  of 
Leone's  spirit ! ' 


CHAP,  it  MARIA  31 

Maria  looked  at  her  thoughtfully,  thinking  at  first 
of  what  she  had  said,  but  suddenly  realised  that  she 
had  left  her  seat. 

'You  are  not  going  already?'  Maria  cried  in  real 
anxiety. 

'Yes,  dear,  I  must.  It's  a  quarter  past  two,  and  I 
have  to  allow  five  minutes  for  driving  to  the  Quirinal.' 

'You  did  not  tell  me  that  you  had  an  audience  to 
day,'  said  Maria,  deeply  disappointed.  'I'm  so  sorry! 
I  had  hoped  you  would  stay  with  me,  and  that  we  might 
go  out  together  by  and  by.  How  long  shall  you  be 
there?  Can  you  not  come  directly  back?' 

Giuliana  was  a  little  surprised;  she  shook  her  head 
doubtfully. 

'I'll  try  to  come  back,  but  I  really  have  not  the  least 
idea  how  long  I  may  be  kept.  You  see,  it's  a  special 
audience  to  talk  about  my  working  women's  institute, 
and  I  have  so  much  to  say.  I  really  must  be  going, 
dear!' 

She  glanced  again  at  her  little  watch,  which  was 
fastened  high  up  on  the  close-fitting  dove-coloured 
body  of  her  frock  by  a  little  jade  bar  carved  to  imitate 
the  twist  of  a  rope,  and  just  then  the  very  latest  inven 
tion  in  the  way  of  indispensable  nothings.  Giuliana, 
without  the  least  coquetry  and  with  very  little  vanity 
as  to  her  appearance,  always  seemed  to  have  everything 
new  just  a  week  sooner  than  any  one  else.  The  truth 
was  that  her  husband  was  in  love  with  her,  and  likely 
to  remain  so,  and  as  he  had  spent  a  good  deal  of  his 
youth  in  women's  society,  he  thoroughly  understood 


32  A   LADY    OF    ROME  PARTI 

such  matters;  and  he  superintended  the  docile  and 
pretty  Giuliana's  toilet  with  quite  as  much  care  as  he 
gave  to  the  direction  of  his  subordinates,  though  he 
was  Under-Secretary  of  State  for  Foreign  Affairs,  with 
a  very  promising  future  before  him  and  a  good  deal  to 
do. 

Giuliana  kissed  her  friend  on  both  cheeks  and  said 
good-bye  to  Leone,  who  did  not  like  to  be  kissed  at  all, 
and  in  a  moment  she  was  gone. 

Maria  went  to  the  window  where  the  boy  was,  and, 
resting  one  hand  on  his  shoulder,  she  bent  down  beside 
him  and  looked  through  the  blinds. 

'Have  you  seen  any  more  soldiers?7  she  asked,  after 
a  moment,  and  as  if  the  question  were  an  important 
one. 

'Only  two,'  he  answered.  'They're  all  at  dinner  now. 
It's  the  time.' 

Her  face  was  close  to  the  child's  as  she  looked  out 
with  him;  and  just  then  he  moved  his  head  and  his 
short  and  thick  brown  hair  brushed  her  cheek.  She 
started  a  little  nervously  and  stood  upright,  looking 
down  at  the  top  of  his  head. 

'What  is  it,  mama?'  he  asked  without  taking  his 
eyes  from  the  blinds,  for  just  then  he  saw  an  officer  of 
the  Piedmont  Lancers  crossing  the  street,  and  the 
beautiful  uniform  of  that  regiment  was  always  an  espe 
cially  delightful  sight. 

'Nothing,  darling,'  answered  Maria. 

As  she  looked  at  the  short  and  thick  brown  hair  it 
seemed  to  draw  her  to  it,  and  she  bent  slowly,  as  if  she 


CHAP,  n  MARIA  33 

were  going  to  kiss  it.  But  at  that  very  moment,  when 
her  lips  were  quite  near  it,  her  eyes  could  see  through 
the  blinds,  and  she  caught  sight  of  the  officer  before  he 
disappeared. 

She  drew  back  and  quickly  covered  her  lips  with  her 
hand,  as  if  to  put  it  between  her  mouth  arid  her  child's 
head.  Castiglione  had  been  in  the  Piedmont  Lancers 
before  he  had  exchanged,  and  the  uniform  was  the  one 
he  had  worn  when  he  had  first  danced  with  her  at  the 
Villa  Montalto,  and  afterwards,  when  he  had  first  dined 
with  her  and  her  husband,  and  later  again,  and  the  last 
time  she  had  seen  him  before  he  had  gone  away.  The 
handsome  dress  was  associated  with  all  her  life. 

She  crossed  the  room  quickly  and  rang  a  bell,  and 
waited  a  moment,  listening  for  the  servant.  She  would 
say  that  she  did  not  receive,  no  matter  who  came. 
Then  she  heard  footsteps  outside  the  drawing-room 
door,  and  it  opened  wide  and  Agostino,  the  old  butler, 
announced  a  visitor. 

'II  Signor  Conte  del  Castiglione.' 

When  Baldassare  entered  the  room  a  moment  later, 
Leone  had  left  the  window  and  was  at  his  mother's  side, 
holding  her  hand  and  eyeing  the  man  he  had  never 
seen,  and  whose  name  he  had  never  heard,  with  a  boy's 
boldly  inquiring  stare ;  and  the  blue  eyes  of  the  man  and 
of  the  child  met  for  the  first  time. 

'I  came  early,'  said  Castiglione  as  he  advanced,  'for I 
was  afraid  you  might  be  going  to  the  races.' 

'No,'  Maria  answered,  steadying  herself  by  the  table, 
'I  am  not  going  to  the  races  to-day.' 


34 


A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  i 


He  held  out  his  hand,  and  she  could  not  well  refuse 
to  take  it,  before  Leone ;  its  touch  was  quiet  and  respect 
ful,  and  only  lasted  an  instant,  but  it  was  even  colder 
than  her  own. 

'And  this  is  your  son/  he  said,  in  a  rather  muffled 
voice,  and  he  shook  hands  with  the  lad.  'I'm  glad  to 
see  you/  he  said.  'I  knew  your  mother  long  before 
you  were  born,  and  we  were  good  friends.  But  I  have 
been  away  all  these  years.  That  is  the  reason  why  you 
have  never  seen  me.' 

'I  understand/  Leone  answered.  'Where  have  you 
been?' 

Castiglione  smiled  at  the  direct  question  and  the 
unhesitating  tone. 

'I  have  been  in  many  cities.  I  am  a  soldier,  and  have 
to  go  where  I  am  sent.' 

At  this  intelligence  Leone  felt  sure  that  he  had  found 
a  new  friend.  He  looked  upon  all  soldiers  as  his  friends, 
from  the  poor  little  infantryman  in  his  long  grey  woollen 
coat  to  the  King  when  he  appeared  in  uniform.  He  at 
once  laid  his  hand  on  Castiglione's  arm  and  looked  up 
into  his  face. 

'Are  you  a  bersagliere ? '  the  boy  asked. 

Maria  still  leant  against  the  table,  and  as  she  watched 
the  two,  the  man  and  the  boy,  and  saw  their  bright 
blue  eyes  and  their  short  and  thick  brown  hair,  the  room 
began  to  move,  as  if  it  were  going  slowly  round  her. 
She  had  never  fainted  in  her  life,  but  she  realised  that 
unless  she  made  a  great  effort  she  must  certainly  faint 
now.  She  did  not  hear  Castiglione's  answer  to  the  boy's 


CHAP.   II 


MARIA  35 


last  question,  but  she  raised  her  hand  to  her  mouth, 
and  set  her  small  teeth  upon  her  forefinger  and  bit  it 
till  a  tiny  drop  of  blood  came,  and  the  pain  brought  her 
back. 

When  she  could  speak  steadily  she  sat  down  near 
the  closed  fireplace,  before  which  there  was  a  glass 
screen;  she  pointed  to  an  arm-chair  opposite,  and  Cas- 
tiglione  took  it. 

Leone  had  been  taught  that  when  visitors  came  in 
the  afternoon  he  was  to  go  away  after  a  few  minutes 
without  being  told  to  do  so.  Accordingly,  as  soon  as 
he  saw  that  his  mother  and  Baldassare  were  going  to 
talk,  he  went  up  to  the  latter  and  held  out  his  hand. 

'Good-bye,'  he  said  gravely.  'The  next  time  you 
come,  please  wear  your  uniform.' 

'If  I  come  again,  I'll  wear  it,'  answered  Castiglione, 
smiling. 

But  Maria  saw  how  earnestly  his  eyes  studied  the 
boy's  face,  and  how  he  held  the  small  hand  as  if  he  did 
not  wish  to  let  it  go.  He  watched  the  sturdy  little 
fellow  till  the  door  was  shut,  and  Maria  saw  that  he 
checked  a  sigh.  For  the  first  time  in  years  the  two  were 
alone  together  within  four  walls,  and  at  first  there  was 
silence  between  them. 

Maria  spoke  first,  very  coldly  and  resentfully,  for 
since  Leone  had  left  the  room  she  had  no  reason  for 
hiding  what  she  felt. 

'Why  have  you  come  ?  '  she  asked.  ' I  told  you  clearly 
that  I  did  not  wish  to  see  you.  You  said,  too,  that  you 
would  come  at  three,  and  when  you  appeared  I  was  just 


36  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  n 

going  to  tell  Agostino  that  I  would  see  no  one.  You 
came  earlier  than  you  said  you  would,  and  it  was  a  trick 
to  catch  me.  Such  things  are  unworthy.' 

Castiglione  had  clasped  his  hands  on  one  knee,  and 
he  bent  his  head  while  she  was  speaking.  When  she 
had  finished  he  looked  up  with  an  expression  she  had 
never  seen  in  his  face,  and  he  spoke  in  a  gentle  and 
almost  pleading  tone. 

'Let  me  tell  you  wrhat  I  have  come  to  Rome  to 
say.' 

'I  would  rather  not  hear  it/  Maria  answered  coldly. 
'I  would  rather  that  you  should  say  nothing  during  the 
few  minutes  I  shall  have  to  let  you  stay  —  for  I  do  not 
wish  any  one  to  think  that  I  have  turned  you  out  of  my 
house.' 

Her  face  was  like  a  mask,  and  white,  for  it  cost  her 
much  to  say  the  words. 

'I  have  not  come  to  persecute  you,  Maria/  he  an 
swered  sorrowfully.  '  I  have  not  loved  you  faithfully 
all  these  years  to  come  and  pain  you  nowT.' 

Maria  Montalto's  lip  curled. 

'Faithfully!'  The  contemptuous  tone  told  all  her 
unbelief. 

'Yes,  I  mean  it.  I  have  loved  you  faithfully  since 
we  parted,  as  I  loved  you  before.' 

'I  do  not  believe  you;  or  I  do  not  understand  what 
you  mean  by  faith.' 

'It  is  easy  to  understand.  Since  you  and  I  parted 
under  the  ilex-trees  I  have  not  spoken  of  love  to  any 
woman.  I  have  lived  a  clean  life.' 


CHAP,  ii  MARIA  37 

Something  clutched  at  the  woman's  heart  just  then, 
but  the  next  moment  she  spoke  as  coldly  as  before. 

'It  is  easy  to  say  such  things/  she  answered. 

'What  I  say  is  true/  returned  Castiglione  quietly. 
'  But  if  I  tell  you  this  of  myself,  it  is  not  because  I  hope 
to  bring  your  love  to  life  again.  I  know  how  dead  that 
is.  I  know  I  killed  it  —  yes,  I  know  ! ' 

He  spoke  with  the  tone  and  accent  of  a  man  in  great 
pain,  and  looked  clown  at  his  clasped  hands;  but  Maria 
turned  her  face  from  him,  for  she  felt  the  clutching  at 
her  heart  again.  He  must  not  know  that  he  was  wrong, 
and  that  she  loved  him  still  in  spite  of  everything. 
She  would  force  herself  not  to  believe  him. 

1  How  well  you  act ! '  she  said,  with  cruel  scorn. 

He  did  not  resent  even  that.  He  had  violently 
broken  and  ruined  her  whole  life  long  ago;  why  should 
she  be  kind  to  him? 

'I  am  not  acting,  and  I  am  not  lying/  he  answered 
gravely.  'I  have  been  faithful  to  you  all  these  years. 
It  is  no  credit  to  me,  and  I  ask  none,  for  I  love  you 
truly/ 

'How  am  I  to  believe  you?'  Maria  asked,  not  con 
temptuously  now,  but  still  coldly.  'Why  should  I?' 

He  raised  his  eyes  and  met  hers  steadily,  and  she  saw 
that  there  was  no  mistaking  the  truth. 

'I  give  you  my  word  of  honour/  he  said  slowly,  and 
waited. 

She  could  not  speak  then,  because  her  joy  was  so 
great,  in  spite  of  herself;  and  he  would  not  say  more; 
he  only  waited  while  she  looked  steadily  at  the  mantel- 


38  A    LADY    OF    ROMP:  PART  T 

piece,  choking  down  something  and  hoping  that  he 
could  not  see  her  face  clearly  in  the  rather  dim  light. 
He  would  not  stoop  to  ask  if  she  believed  his  word, 
and  she  was  dumb.  It  was  too  much,  all  at  once. 

Presently,  when  she  thought  she  could  trust  her 
voice,  she  tried  to  speak.  It  had  seemed  a  long  time. 

'It  is  —       '  she  began. 

But  she  broke  off,  for  she  felt  the  great  cry  coming 
in  the  word  that  should  have  followed.  Therefore  in 
stead  of  speaking  she  held  out  her  hand  to  him  and 
turned  her  face  away  from  his.  They  were  just  so 
near  that  by  leaning  far  forward  he  could  hold  her 
fingers.  He  pressed  them  quietly  for  one  moment,  a 
little  hard,  perhaps,  but  with  no  attempt  to  hold  them. 

'Thank  you/  he  said,  not  very  steadily. 

She  had  regretted  the  little  impulsive  action  at  once, 
expecting  that  he  would  kiss  her  hand,  as  almost  any 
man  might  have  done  with  less  reason.  But  she  was 
glad  that  he  had  not;  glad,  and  grateful  to  him.  Per 
haps  he  knew  it,  but  she  was  able  to  speak  now;  he 
should  not  think  that  he  had  gained  a  hairbreadth's 
advantage. 

'I  am  glad  that  you  have  lived  a  good  life/  she  said, 
much  more  kindly  than  she  had  spoken  yet.  'But  you 
must  not  call  it  faithfulness.  You  must  not  mean  that 
you  have  been  faithful  to  the  memory  of  a  great  sin, 
of  the  worst  deed  you  ever  did.  It  would  have  been 
much  better  to  forget  me.' 

'You  do  not  understand/  he  answered.  'My  sins 
are  on  my  soul,  and  yours  with  them,  if  you  have  any. 


CHAP,  n  MARIA  39 

I  am  wicked  enough  to  hope  that  I  may  never  forget 
you,  and  that  I  may  live  till  I  die  as  I  have  lived  since 
we  parted.  It  is  the  least  I  can  do,  not  for  your  sake, 
but  out  of  respect  for  myself  and  regret  for  the  worst 
deed  I  ever  did.  Yes,  you  are  right,  it  was  that.  The 
question  that  fills  my  life  is  this  :  Can  I  in  any  way  atone 
to  you  for  that  deed?  Can  you  ever  forgive  me  so  far 
as  not  to  hate  me,  and  not  to  despise  the  mere  thought 
of  me,  so  far  as  to  be  willing  that  I  should  live  in  the 
same  city  with  you  and  see  you  sometimes?' 

Pie  waited  for  her  answrer,  but  it  was  long  before  it 
came.  When  she  tried  to  collect  her  thoughts  she 
was  amazed  and  frightened  by  the  change  that  had 
come  over  her  in  the  last  few  minutes.  Her  impulse 
was  to  confess  frankly  that  she  had  always  loved  him, 
though  she  could  not  forgive  him,  and  to  implore  him 
to  go  away  and  never  to  come  near  her  again ;  and  then 
she  remembered  that  she  had  said  those  very  words  to 
him  long  ago  under  the  ilex-trees  in  the  Villa  Borghese, 
with  many  cruel  ones  which  neither  had  forgotten. 
He  had  given  up  his  leave  then,  and  had  gone  back  to 
his  regiment  in  a  distant  city,  and  he  had  never  come 
near  her  nor  written  to  her  since. 

But  there  was  more  than  that,  much  more.  He  had 
lived  a  clean  life.  She  knew  the  world  well  enough 
now,  and  she  knew  what  the  lives  of  most  unmarried 
men  are  at  Castiglione's  age.  Had  she  not  a  son  to 
bring  up,  for  whom  she  prayed  daily  that  he  might 
grow  to  manhood  without  reproach  as  well  as  without 
fear?  She  knew  something  of  how  men  lived,  and  she 


40  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  I 

could  guess,  as  far  as  an  honest  woman  may,  at  the 
daily  temptations  that  must  assail  a  good-looking  young 
officer  in  the  smartest  cavalry  regiment  in  the  country; 
she  guessed,  too,  that  one  who  chose  to  live  very  dif 
ferently  from  most  of  his  comrades  might  not  always 
escape  jests  which  would  not  turn  to  actual  ridicule 
only  because  Castiglione  was  not  a  man  to  be  laughed 
at  with  impunity;  not  by  any  means. 

She  believed  him,  and  though  she  might  tell  him  that 
he  was  faithful  to  a  sin,  to  something  dangerously  near 
a  crime,  his  faith  had  been  for  her,  arid  she  could  not 
deny  it  to  herself.  It  was  for  her  sake  that  he  had  not 
lived  like  the  rest. 

Then  she  covered  her  eyes  with  her  hand  and  she 
saw  her  own  past  life  clearly,  and  dared  to  look  at  it. 
The  ugly  blot  was  there,  plain  enough;  but  if  the  fault 
had  really  been  all  his,  why  should  the  stain  look  so 
very  black  after  all  those  years?  He  believed  that  he 
had  sinned  against  her,  not  with  her;  and  so  she  had 
told  herself  —  and  had  told  him  so  with  bitter  re 
proaches  before  they  had  parted.  Was  it  quite,  quite 
true?  If  it  was,  she  had  no  cause  to  reproach  herself 
for  the  catastrophe.  Yet  since  that  hour  she  had  accused 
herself  daily.  Of  what?  Of  having  loved  Baldassare 
del  Castiglione?  But  she  had  loved  him  innocently 
and  dearly  when  she  was  seventeen,  and  ever  since. 
Her  mother  had  known  it,  but  he  was  poor,  he  was  no 
match  for  a  girl  who  was  something  of  an  heiress.  She 
had  done  as  many  other  girls  did  and  always  will  do; 
she  had  yielded  to  parental  pressure,  she  had  promised 


CHAP,  ii  MARIA  41 

herself  to  forget,  thinking  it  would  be  easy;  she  had 
married  Montalto,  making  the  great  marriage  of  that 
season ;  she  had  begun  to  be  a  wife  believing,  poor  soul, 
that  she  had  done  right  in  obeying  her  mother  as  a 
daughter  should.  But  she  had  not  forgotten. 

Even  that  was  no  sin.  It  was  her  misfortune,  and 
the  natural  consequence  of  a  false  system  that  sacrificed 
too  much  to  money,  or  to  money  arid  name.  She  had 
actually  been  vain  of  marrying  Montalto,  for  though 
he  bore  only  the  title  of  count,  he  was  an  authentic 
Count  of  the  Empire,  which  is  quite  a  different  matter 
from  being  a  Roman  'conte.'  It  had  been  a  very  great 
marriage  indeed,  and  Maria  had  really  been  a  little 
foolishly  vain  of  becoming  his  wife.  He  had  two  his 
toric  castles  in  Italy  as  well  as  an  historical  palace  in 
Rome  and  an  historical  estate  on  the  Austrian  frontier, 
and  he  was  heir  to  historical  lands  in  Spain  by  his 
mother ;  and  he  had  a  great  number  of  historic  ancestors 
who  had  been  Counts  of  the  Empire  and  Grandees  of 
Spain,  and  hereditary  Knights  of  the  Sovereign  Order 
of  Malta.  Everything  about  Montalto  was  historical, 
including  his  grave  face  and  pointed  black  beard,  and 
he  might  have  passed  for  the  original  of  more  than  one 
portrait  in  his  historic  gallery.  His  family  even  had  a 
well-attested  White  Lady  who  appeared  when  one  of 
them  was  going  to  die! 

But  all  these  things  could  not  make  the  young  wife 
forget  Baldassare  del  Castiglione,  who  was  only  a  more 
or  less  penniless  officer  in  the  Piedmont  Lancers.  The 
worst  of  it  was  that  Montalto  liked  him,  instinctively 


42  A    LADY    OF    ROM  !•]  PART  i 

because  his  name  was  also  so  extremely  historical,  and 
fatally  because  husbands  are  the  last  to  discover  their 
wives'  preferences.  Montalto  had  thrown  Maria  and 
Castiglione  together. 

She  had  gone  to  confession  again  and  again,  for  she 
had  been  brought  up  to  be  very  devout.  Her  con 
fessor  told  her  each  time  that  she  must  avoid  the  man 
she  loved  and  pray  to  forget  him.  She  answered  that 
her  husband  liked  him  and  constantly  asked  him  to  the 
house;  that  she  could  not  beg  Montalto  to  change  his 
attitude  towards  a  friend  without  giving  a  good  reason ; 
and  that  the  only  reason  she  had  was  that  she  loved 
Baldassare  with  all  her  heart,  though  she  was  told  it  was 
wrong  now  that  she  was  married,  and  she  prayed  that 
she  might  forget  him  and  love  her  husband.  Her  con 
fessor,  having  ascertained  by  further  questions  that  she 
and  Castiglione  had  avowed  their  love  for  each  other 
in  bygone  days,  long  before  her  marriage,  bade  her 
appeal  to  the  young  man's  generosity,  and  beg  him  to 
refuse  Mont-alto's  constant  invitations  and  to  see  her  as 
little  as  possible.  But  the  confessor  did  not  know  the 
man.  Maria  followed  the  priest's  advice,  but  Baldas 
sare  utterly  refused  to  do  what  she  asked,  and  became 
more  and  more  unmanageable  from  that  day.  Surely 
that  was  not  her  fault.  It  was  not  with  this  that  she 
reproached  herself.  She  had  been  afraid  to  tell  Mont 
alto,  that  was  true;  there  had  been  one  day,  at  last, 
when  she  should  have  confessed  to  him,  instead  of  to 
the  priest;  she  should  have  thrown  herself  upon  his 
mercy  and  implored  him  to  take  her  away.  But  then 


CHAP,  ii  MARIA  43 

she  had  lacked  courage.  She  had  told  herself  that  her 
husband  loved  her  devotedly  in  his  silent,  respectful 
way,  and  that  to  tell  him  the  truth  would  be  the  ruin 
of  his  happiness.  She  felt  so  sure  that  his  honour  was 
safe  !  And  meanwhile  Castiglione  grew  more  passionate 
every  day,  more  reckless  and  more  uncontrollable;  and 
she  loved  him  the  more,  and  he  knew  it,  though  she 
would  not  tell  him  so.  She  accused  herself  of  that. 
She  should  have  gone  to  her  husband  for  protection, 
for  his  happiness  was  far  less  to  him  then  than  his 
honour.  Some  women  would  have  invented  an  un 
truth  as  a  means  justified  by  the  end.  Maria  might 
have  told  Montalto  that  she  was  suffering  a  persecution 
odious  to  her;  she  would  have  saved  her  husband's 
honour  and  happiness  together,  and  would  even  have 
raised  her  higher  in  his  esteem.  But  she  could  not  do 
it.  It  would  be  base,  treacherous,  and  faithless.  So 
she  waited  and  prayed  against  her  heart,  and  hoped 
against  Castiglione's  nature.  Then  came  the  evil  hour 
and  it  was  too  late;  too  late  even  to  lie.  She  accused 
herself  of  having  put  off  too  long  the  one  act  that  could 
have  saved  her.  But  still,  and  to  the  end,  she  had  told 
herself  that  she  had  been  strong,  that  she  had  resisted 
her  own  passion  as  well  as  the  ruthless  man  who  loved 
her.  She  had  been  innocent,  she  repeated;  and  she 
had  told  her  confessor  nothing  more  until  she  believed 
that  she  had  changed,  and  that  she  hated  the  man  she 
had  loved  so  well.  Then  the  priest,  who  was  not  worldly 
wise,  warned  her  gently  against  anything  so  un-Christian 
as  hatred,  and  counselled  her  to  forget  and  to  grow 


44  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  i 

indifferent  and  to  devote  herself  to  her  husband's  happi 
ness.  That  sounded  very  easy  to  the  poor  priest. 

After  that  she  had  altogether  given  up  asking  advice 
of  him,  and  she  had  let  herself  be  guided  by  her  own 
sense  of  honour.  Besides,  the  day  soon  came  when 
Montalto  accused  her;  and  he  would  not  have  believed 
her  if  she  had  thrown  the  whole  blame  on  her  lover,  for 
she  could  not  lie  and  say  she  had  never  loved  him.  So 
she  had  not  defended  herself,  and  the  great  wave  had 
gone  over  her  head,  and  her  husband,  broken-hearted, 
had  left  her  for  ever ;  but  he  had  done  it  in  such  a  way 
that  there  had  been  no  open  scandal.  He  had  gone  to 
Spain  and  had  come  back  again,  and  had  gone  away 
again  and  had  stayed  longer;  he  had  spoken  to  his 
friends  of  his  mother's  wretched  health;  she  could  not 
live  in  Italy,  and  Maria  could  not  live  in  Spain,  and  he 
could  not  be  in  both  places  at  once.  The  separation, 
so  far  as  the  world  saw  it,  came  by  degrees,  till  it  was 
permanent.  Monltalto  and  his  wife  were  not  the  first 
couple  that  had  separated  quietly,  without  quarrelling 
in  public,  simply  because  they  did  not  like  each  other. 
People  did  not  always  know  where  Maria  spent  her 
summers  with  her  child,  and  the  good-natured  ones  used 
to  say  that  she  saw  her  husband  then ;  and  she  lived  in 
such  a  way  in  Rome  that  the  blame  was  all  laid  on 
Montalto,  and  Teresa  Crescenzi's  story  was  believed. 
Montalto  was  a  brute,  who  had  often  struck  his  wife 
when  he  was  in  one  of  his  fits  of  anger,  and  she  was 
little  less  than  a  saint. 

Castiglione  sat  waiting  for  his  answer.     Would  she 


CHAP.    II 


MARIA  45 


tell  him  that  he  might  come  back  and  live  near  her? 
Or  would  she  grow  hard  and  cold  once  more,  and  bid 
him  go  away  again,  and  for  ever  ? 

After  a  long  time  she  raised  her  head  and  looked  at 
him  quietly. 

1 1  cannot  answer  you  at  once/  she  said ; '  but  I  promise 
that  I  will.  You  said  yesterday  that  you  had  a  fort 
night's  leave.  When  I  have  made  up  my  mind  what 
to  do  I  shall  let  you  know,  and  you  must  come  and  see 
me  again.' 

Castiglione  shook  his  head  gravely  and  said 
nothing. 

'What  is  the  matter?'  asked  Maria. 
'I  suppose  you  are  going  to  ask  advice  of  your  con 
fessor/  he  answered  very  sadly,  and  not  at  all  in  con 
tempt. 

But  Maria  lifted  her  head  proudly. 
'No/  she  said,  'I  am  going  to  ask  myself  what  is 
right.     And  in  my  thoughts  my  child  shall  be  the  man 
I  hope  to  make  him,  and  I  will  ask  him  what  is  honour 
able.' 

'  Will  you  not  trust  me  for  that  ?'  Castiglione  asked, 
and  his  face  lightened. 

'That  I  even  consent  to  ask  myself  shows  that  I 
trust  you  more  than  I  did  when  you  surprised  me  here 
not  half  an  hour  ago.  And  now  please  leave  me,  for 
I  want  to  be  alone.  Perhaps  I  shall  send  for  you  to 
morrow,  or  perhaps  not  for  a  week.  If  we  chance  to 
meet  anywhere,  come  and  speak  to  me,  for  people  will 
think  it  strange  if  we  avoid  each  other.  But  I  shall 


46  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  i 

ask  you  to  come  here  for  the  answer  to  your 
question/ 

'Thank  you/  he  answered  gratefully. 

Their  hands  touched  each  other  for  a  moment,  but 
neither  spoke  again,  and  he  went  quietly  out. 


CHAPTER  III 

MARIA  did  not  send  for  Castiglione  the  next  day,  nor 
during  a  number  of  days  afterwards,  and  Giuliana 
Parenzo  saw  that  she  was  very  much  preoccupied  and 
was  not  looking  well.  The  elder  woman  was  far  too 
good  a  friend  to  ask  questions,  and  when  the  two  were 
together  she  did  her  best  to  amuse  Maria  by  her  talk. 
The  Marchesa  was  not  particularly  witty,  but  she  some 
times  told  a  story  with  little  touches  of  humour  that 
were  quite  her  own.  Very  good  women  are  rarely 
witty,  but  they  often  have  a  happy  faculty  of  seeing 
the  funny  side  of  things.  Wit  wounds,  but  humour 
disarms. 

Giuliana  saw,  too,  that  Maria  did  not  like  to  be  alone, 
even  with  Leone.  The  truth  was  that  she  slept  little 
and  was  very  nervous.  Something  had  come  back 
from  the  past  to  haunt  her;  often  a  nameless  horror 
came  near  her,  not  at  night  only,  for  it  was  not  the  fear 
of  an  overwrought  imagination,  but  in  broad  daylight 
too,  when  she  was  alone  and  chanced  to  be  doing  nothing. 
It  was  the  more  dreadful  because  she  could  not  define 
it ;  she  could  not  say  that  it  was  caused  by  the  question 
Castiglione  had  asked  her,  and  which  she  had  promised 
to  answer,  but  when  she  thought  of  that  her  mind  re 
fused  to  be  reasonable,  and  the  horror  came  upon  her, 

47 


48  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  i 

and  she  felt  that  utter  ruin  was  close  at  hand,  lying  in 
wait  for  her.  She  remembered  the  sensation  well  in 
the  old  days;  she  had  sometimes  fancied  then  that  she 
was  going  mad,  and  had  made  great  efforts  to  control 
herself,  but  she  had  never  thought  of  asking  a  doctor 
what  it  was,  for  she  had  believed,  and  believed  now, 
that  it  was  a  state  of  mind  rather  than  the  mere  effect 
of  anxiety  and  mental  fatigue  on  her  body.  So  she 
suffered  much,  and  quite  uselessly ;  but  that  was  a  small 
matter  compared  with  the  fact  that  she  had  promised 
Castiglione  an  answrer  before  his  fortnight's  leave  was 
over,  and  that  after  several  days  she  was  no  nearer  to 
finding  one  than  wrhen  he  had  left  her. 

Again  and  again  she  thought  of  telling  Giuliana  all 
her  trouble  and  asking  her  advice,  but  she  was  always 
deterred  by  an  inward  conviction  that  her  friend  would 
not  understand.  She  was  mistaken  in  this,  but  she 
could  not  believe  that  she  wTas.  Giuliana  knew  some 
thing,  of  course;  all  Rome  believed  Teresa  Crescenzi's 
story,  of  which  the  starting-point  wras  that  she  had 
loved  Baldassare  del  Castiglione  innocently,  and  it  was 
Giuliana  who  had  repeated  the  tale  to  her.  Maria  had 
shaken  her  head,  and  had  answered  that  there  was  not 
much  truth  in  it,  but  that  people  might  as  well  believe 
it  as  invent  any  other  story,  since  she  would  never  tell 
any  one,  not  even  Giuliana,  exactly  what  had  happened. 

'It  does  not  concern  me  only/  she  had  said  gravely. 

Giuliana  had  asked  no  questions,  and  Maria  had  been 
sure  that  there  would  never  be  any  need  of  referring  to 
her  secret  again. 


CHAP,  in  MARIA  49 

But  now  the  past  had  come  back  to  ask  a  question 
which  she  could  not  answer.  She  had  been  in  earnest 
when  she  had  told  Baldassare  proudly  that  she  did  not 
mean  to  go  to  a  priest  for  advice.  He  disliked  all 
priests  out  of  prejudice,  as  she  knew.  There  might  be 
good  and  bad  soldiers,  lawyers,  writers,  artists,  or  work 
men,  but  in  his  estimation  there  could  be  very  few  good 
priests.  Yet  it  was  not  to  please  him  that  she  had  said 
she  would  not  go  to  her  confessor ;  it  was  simply  because 
she  was  quite  sure  that  she  could  trust  her  own  con 
science  and  her  own  sense  of  honour  to  show  her  the 
right  way;  and  perhaps  she  might  have  trusted  both 
if  her  nerves  had  not  failed  her  at  the  critical  moment 
and  left  her  apparently  helpless.  She  was  in  great  need 
of  help  and  advice,  and  did  not  know  where  to  go  for 
either. 

Meanwhile  she  had  not  met  Castiglione  again.  The 
season  was  over,  and  even  at  its  height  she  did  not  go 
out  much.  Society  is  always  dull  when  one  has  no 
object  in  joining  in  its  inane  revels  —  love,  ambition, 
stupid  vanity,  or  a  daughter  to  marry  —  unless,  indeed, 
one  possesses  the  temperament  of  a  butterfly  combined 
with  the  intelligence  of  an  oyster.  So  it  had  been 
quite  natural  that  Maria  should  not  have  met  Castiglione 
during  those  days,  and  she  had  not  chanced  to  meet 
him  in  the  street.  On  his  side,  he  had  kept  away  from 
the  part  of  the  city  in  which  she  lived,  but  he  had  gone 
to  every  friend's  house  and  public  place  where  he  thought 
there  was  a  possibility  of  meeting  her. 

After  a  week  they  met  by  what  seemed  an  accident 


50  A    LADY    OF    ROMI-: 

to  them  both.  Maria  was  almost  ill,  and  could  no  longer 
bear  her  trouble  without  some  help.  There  was  in 
Rome  a  good  priest  of  her  own  class  —  a  man  in  ten 
thousand,  a  man  of  heart,  a  man  of  courage,  a  man  of 
the  highest  honour  and  of  the  purest  life.  If  she  had 
not  always  disliked  the  idea  of  meeting  her  confessor 
in  the  world,  she  would  have  chosen  this  man  for  hers 
long  ago.  If  he  had  been  in  Rome  in  the  darkest 
months  of  her  life  she  would  certainly  have  gone  to 
him  for  advice;  but  he  had  then  been  working  as  a 
parish  priest  in  a  remote  and  fever-stricken  part  of  the 
Maremma,  and  it  was  because  his  health  had  broken 
down  that  he  had  been  obliged  to  give  up  his  labours 
and  come  back  to  Rome.  He  was  now  a  Canon  of 
Saint  Peter's,  and  was  employed  as  Secretary  to  the 
Cardinal  Vicar,  but  found  time  to  occupy  himself  with 
matters  nearer  to  his  heart.  His  name  was  Monsignor 
Ippolito  Saracinesca;  he  was  the  second  son  of  Don 
Giovanni,  the  head  of  the  great  family,  and  he  was 
about  forty  years  old. 

To  him  Maria  Montalto  determined  to  go  in  her 
extremity.  She  was  not  quite  sure  how  she  should 
tell  him  her  story,  but  for  the  sake  of  what  she  had  said 
to  Castiglione  she  would  not  put  it  in  the  form  of  a  con 
fession.  She  would  not  need  to  tell  so  much  of  it  but 
that  she  could  lay  it  before  him  as  an  imaginary  case  — 
which  is  a  foolish  device  when  it  is  meant  to  hide  a 
secret,  but  is  useful  as  a  means  of  communicating  one 
that  is  hard  to  tell. 

Monsignor  Saracinesca  was  generally  at  Saint  Peter's 


CHAP,  in  MARIA  51 

at  about  eleven  o'clock,  and  Maria  made  sure  of  finding 
him  there  by  telephoning  to  the  Saracinesca  palace, 
in  which  he  had  a  small  apartment  of  his  own.  At  half- 
past  ten  she  left  her  house  alone,  took  a  cab  and  drove 
across  Rome  to  the  Basilica.  She  got  out  at  the  front 
and  went  up  the  steps,  for  she  had  never  before  been  to 
see  any  one  in  the  Sacristy,  and  was  not  quite  sure  of 
what  would  happen  if  she  went  directly  to  it  at  the  back 
of  the  church. 

She  entered  on  the  right-hand  side,  by  force  of  habit. 
There  is  a  very  heavy  wadded  leathern  curtain  there, 
and  she  had  to  pull  it  aside  for  herself,  which  was  not 
easy.  Just  as  she  was  doing  this,  and  using  all  her 
strength,  some  one  pushed  the  curtain  up  easily  from 
within,  and  she  found  herself  face  to  face  with  Baldas- 
sare  del  Castiglione,  and  very  near  him.  She  started 
violently,  for  she  was  even  more  nervous  than  usual. 
He  himself  was  so  much  surprised  that  he  drew  his  head 
back  quickly;  then  he  bent  it  silently  and  stood  aside, 
holding  up  the  curtain  for  her  to  pass,  as  if  not  expect 
ing  that  she  would  stop  to  speak  to  him. 

1  Thank  you,'  she  said,  going  in. 

She  tried  to  smile  a  little,  just  as  much  as  one  might 
with  a  word  of  thanks ;  but  the  effort  was  so  great,  and 
her  face  was  so  pale  and  disturbed,  that  it  made  a  pain 
ful  impression  on  him,  and  he  watched  her  anxiously 
till  she  had  gone  a  few  steps  forward  into  the  church, 
for  he  was  really  afraid  that  she  might  faint  and  fall, 
and  perhaps  hurt  herself,  and  there  was  no  one  near 
the  door  just  then  to  help  her. 


52  A    LADY    OF    ROME 


PAHT   I 


But  she  walked  straight  enough,  and  he  had  just 
begun  to  lower  the  heavy  curtain,  turning  his  head  as 
he  passed  under  it,  when  he  heard  her  call  him  sharply. 

'  Balduccio ! ' 

It  was  very  long  since  she  had  called  him  familiarly 
by  his  first  name,  and  his  heart  stood  still  at  the  sound 
of  her  voice.  A  moment  later  he  was  within  the  church, 
and  met  her  as  she  was  coming  back  to  the  door. 

'You  called  me?' 

'Yes.' 

They  turned  to  the  right  into  the  north  aisle,  and 
walked  slowly  forwards,  side  by  side.  There  were  not 
many  people  in  the  Basilica  at  that  hour,  for  it  was  a 
week-day,  and  the  season  of  the  tourists  was  almost 
over.  At  some  distance  before  them,  two  or  three 
people  were  kneeling  before  the  closed  gate  of  the  Julian 
Chapel.  Maria  and  Castiglione  were  as  much  alone  as 
if  they  had  been  in  the  country,  and  as  free  to  talk,  for 
no  conversation,  even  in  an  ordinary  tone,  can  be  heard 
far  in  the  great  cathedral.  Nevertheless  Maria  did  not 
speak. 

'You  are  ill/  Castiglione  said,  breaking  the  silence  at 
last.  'Let  me  take  you  to  your  carriage.7 

'No.  I  came  here  for  a  good  purpose,  and  I  cannot 
go  home  without  doing  what  I  mean  to  do.' 

'I  wish  with  all  my  heart  that  I  had  not  come  back 
to  Rome  to  disturb  your  peace  !  It  is  my  fault  that  you 
are  suffering.' 

'No.  It  is  not  your  fault.'  She  spoke  gently.  'It 
is  a  consequence,  that's  all.  You  had  a  right  to  ask  me 


CHAP.   Ill 


MARIA  53 


that  question,  and  you  have  a  right  to  an  answer.  But 
I  cannot  find  one.  That  is  what  is  troubling  me.7 

'You  are  kind  to  me/  said  Castiglione.  'Too  kind/ 
he  added,  and  she  knew  by  his  tone  how  much  he  was 
moved. 

She  turned  in  her  walk  before  she  answered,  for  they 
were  already  near  the  Julian  Chapel. 

'No/  she  said  after  a  minute,  and  she  bent  her  head. 
'Not  too  kind  —  if  you  knew  all.' 

He  looked  quickly  at  her  face,  but  she  did  not  turn 
to  him.  His  heart  beat  hard  and  his  throat  felt  sud 
denly  dry. 

'Don't  misunderstand  me/  she  said,  still  looking 
steadily  down  at  the  pavement.  'I  meant,  if  you  knew 
how  much  I  wish  to  be  just  —  to  myself  as  well  as  to 
you,  Balduccio/ 

'I  do  not  want  justice/  he  answered  sadly.  'I  ask 
for  forgiveness.' 

'Yes.     I  know.' 

She  said  no  more,  and  they  walked  slowly  on.  At  the 
little  gate  of  Leo  the  Twelfth's  Chapel  she  stopped,  and 
she  took  hold  of  the  bars  with  both  hands  and  looked  in, 
leaving  room  for  him  to  stand  beside  her. 

' Justice/  she  cried  in  a  low  voice,  'justice,  justice! 
To  you,  to  me,  to  my  husband  !  God  help  us  all  three ! 7 

He  did  not  understand,  but  he  felt  that  a  change  had 
come  over  her  since  he  had  seen  her  a  week  earlier,  and 
that  it  was  in  his  favour  rather  than  against  him. 

'  Justice ! '  he  repeated  after  her,  but  in  a  very  dif 
ferent  tone.  'It  would  have  been  justice  if  I  had  put  a 


54  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  i 

bullet    through    my   head   when   I    went    home    that 
night!' 

Maria's  hands  left  the  bars  of  the  gate  and  grasped 
Castiglione's  arm  above  the  elbow  and  shook  it  a 
little. 

'Never  say  that  again!'  she  cried  in  a  stifled  voice. 
'  Promise  me  that  you  will  never  think  it  again  !  Prom 
ise!' 

He  was  amazed  at  her  energy  and  earnestness,  and  he 
understood  less  and  less  what  was  passing  in  her  heart. 

'I  can  only  promise  you  that  I  will  never  do  it/  he 
answered  gravely. 

'Yes,'  she  cried  in  the  same  tone,  'promise  me  that! 
It  is  what  I  mean.  Give  me  your  sacred  word  of 
honour  !  Take  oath  to  me  before  the  Cross  —  there  — 
do  you  see?'  she  pointed  with  one  hand  through  the 
bars  to  the  Crucifix  in  the  stained  window,  still  holding 
him  with  the  other.  '  Swear  solemnly  that  you  will 
never  kill  yourself,  whatever  happens!' 

He  could  well  have  asked  if  she  loved  him  still,  and 
she  could  not  have  denied  it  then;  but  he  would  not, 
for  he  was  in  earnest  too.  He  had  not  meant  to  trouble 
her  life  so  deeply  when  he  had  come  to  ask  her  forgive 
ness;  far  less  had  he  dreamt  that  the  old  love  had  sur 
vived  all.  A  great  wave  of  pure  devotion  to  the  woman 
lie  had  wronged  swept  him  to  her  feet. 

It  was  long  since  he  had  knelt  in  any  church;  but 
now  he  was  kneeling  beside  her  as  she  stood,  and  he  was 
looking  up  to  the  sacred  figure,  and  his  hands  were 
joined  together. 


MARIA  55 

'You  have  my  word  and  promise/  he  said  in  deep 
emotion.  'Let  the  God  you  trust  be  witness  between 
you  and  me.' 

He  heard  a  soft  sound,  and  she  was  kneeling  beside 
him,  close  to  the  bars.  Then  her  ungloved  hand,  cold 
and  trembling,  went  out  and  rested  lightly  on  his  own 
for  a  moment. 

'Is  it  forgiveness?'  he  asked,  very  low. 

'It  is  forgiveness/  she  said. 

He  pressed  his  forehead  against  his  folded  hands 
that  rested  upon  the  bars.  Then  he  understood  that 
she  was  praying,  and  he  rose  very  quietly  and  drew 
back  a  step,  as  from  something  he  held  in  great  reverence, 
but  in  which  he  had  no  part. 

She  did  not  heed  him  and  remained  kneeling  a  little 
while,  a  slight  and  rarely  graceful  figure  in  dark  grey 
against  the  rich  shadows  within  the  chapel.  If  any 
one  passed  near,  neither  he  nor  she  was  aware  of  it, 
and  there  wTas  nothing  in  the  attitude  of  either  to  excite 
surprise  in  such  a  place,  except  that  it  is  unusual  to  see 
any  one  praying  just  there. 

Maria  rose  at  last,  stood  a  few  seconds  longer  before 
the  gate,  and  then  turned  to  Baldassare.  Her  face  had 
changed  since  he  had  last  seen  it  clearly ;  it  was  still 
pale  and  full  of  suffering,  but  there  was  light  in  it  now. 
She  stood  beside  him  and  looked  at  him  quietly  when 
she  spoke. 

'I  have  not  given  you  all  my  answer  yet/  she  said. 
'I  will  tell  you  why  I  came  here,  because  I  wish  to  be 
quite  frank  in  all  there  is  to  be  between  us.  I  told  you 


56  A    LADY    OF    ROME 


PART   I 


the  other  day  that  I  would  not  go  to  my  confessor  for 
advice.  At  least,  that  is  what  I  meant  to  say.  Did  I  ?' 

'Yes.     That  was  what  you  said.' 

'I  shall  keep  my  word.  But  I  am  going  for  help  to  a 
friend  who  is  a  priest,  because  I  have  broken  down. 
I  thought  I  could  trust  my  own  conscience  and  my  own 
sense  of  honour;  I  thought  I  could  fancy  my  boy  a 
man,  and  in  imagination  ask  him  what  his  mother  should 
do.  But  I  cannot.  I  am  very  tired,  and  my  thoughts 
are  all  confused  and  blurred.  Do  you  understand?' 

'Yes/  said  Castiglione;  but  in  spite  of  himself  his 
face  betrayed  his  displeasure  at  the  thought  that  an 
ecclesiastic  should  come  between  them. 

'I  am  going  to  see  a  priest  whom  I  trust  as  a  man/ 
she  went  on.  'I  am  going  to  Monsignor  Saracinesca.' 

'Don  Ippolito?'  Castiglione's  brow  cleared,  and  he 
almost  smiled. 

'Yes.     Do  you  know  him?' 

'I  know  him  well.  You  could  not  go  to  a  better 
man/ 

'I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  that.  I  may  not  follow 
his  advice,  after  all,  but  I  am  sure  he  will  help  me  to 
find  myself  again.' 

'  Perhaps.'  Castiglione  spoke  thoughtfully,  not  doubt 
fully.  Then  his  face  hardened,  but  not  unkindly,  and 
the  manly  features  set  themselves  in  a  look  of  brave 
resolution.  'Before  you  go 'let  me  say  something/  he 
went  on,  after  the  short  pause.  'You  have  giver  me 
more  to-day  than  I  ever  hoped  to  have  from  you,  Maria. 
I  will  ask  nothing  else,  since  the  mere  thought  of  seeing 


CHAP,  in  MARIA  57 

me  often  has  troubled  you  so  much.  I  will  leave 
Rome  to-day,  and  I  will  not  come  back  —  never,  unless 
you  send  for  me.  Put  all  the  rest  out  of  your  mind  and 
be  yourself  again,  and  remember  only  that  you  have 
forgiven  me  the  worst  deed  of  my  life.  I  can  live  on 
that  till  the  end.  Good-bye.  God  bless  you!' 

She  had  been  looking  down,  but  now  she  raised  her 
eyes  to  his,  and  there  were  tears  in  them  that  did  not 
overflow.  He  held  out  his  hand,  but  she  would  not 
take  it. 

'Thank  you/  she  said.  'You  are  brave  and  kind, 
but  I  will  not  have  it  so.  I  may  ask  you  to  go  away 
when  your  leave  is  over,  but  not  to  stay  always,  and 
after  a  time  we  shall  meet  again.  Before  going  you 
must  come  and  see  me.  I  will  write  you  a  line  to-night 
or  to-morrow.  Good-bye  now,  but  only  for  to-day.' 

She  smiled  faintly,  bent  her  head  a  little,  and  turned 
from  him  to  cross  the  nave  on  her  Avay  to  the  Sacristy. 
He  stood  by  the  pillar  and  watched  her,  sure  that  she 
would  not  look  back.  She  moved  lightly,  but  not 
fast,  over  the  vast  pavement.  When  she  was  opposite 
the  Julian  Chapel,  which  is  the  Chapel  of  the  Sacra 
ment,  she  turned  towards  it  and  bent  her  knee,  but 
she  rose  again  instantly  and  went  on  till  she  disappeared 
behind  the  great  pilaster  of  the  dome,  at  the  corner  of 
the  south  transept. 

Then  Castiglione  went  slowly  and  thoughtfully  away, 
happier  than  he  had  been  for  a  long  time. 

But  Maria  went  on,  and  glanced  at  her  watch,  and 
hastened  her  steps.  She  left  the  church  and  traversed 


58  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  i 

the  long  marble  corridors,  where  all  kinds  of  people 
come  and  go  on  all  sorts  of  business  whenever  the 
Basilica  is  open.  In  the  great  central  hall  of  the  Sacristy, 
which  is  as  big  as  an  ordinary  church,  she  asked  the 
first  acolyte  she  met  for  Monsignor  Saracinesca. 

He  was  close  at  hand,  in  the  Chapter-House.  'Would 
the  lady  give  her  revered  name?'  'The  Countess  of 
Montalto.'  The  young  man  in  the  violet  cassock  bowed 
low.  'Monsignor  Saracinesca  would  certainly  see  her 
Excellency.'  'Her  Excellency'  thanked  the  young 
man  and  stood  aside  to  wait,  out  of  the  way  of  the 
many  canons  and  other  ecclesiastics,  and  choirmen, 
and  singing  boys,  and  other  acolytes  who  were  all 
moving  hither  and  thither  as  if  they  were  very  busy 
about  doing  nothing  in  a  hurry.  In  less  than  half  a 
minute  Ippolito  Saracinesca  joined  her. 

The  churchman  was  a  man  of  forty  or  near  that, 
but  was  already  very  grey,  and  thin  almost  to  emacia 
tion.  He  had  the  wan  complexion  of  those  who  have 
lived  long  in  feverish  parts  of  Italy,  and  there  were 
many  lines  of  suffering  in  his  refined  features,  which 
seemed  to  be  modelled  in  wax.  In  his  youth  he  had 
been  said  to  be  like  his  mother's  mother,  and  a  resem 
blance  to  her  portrait  was  still  traceable,  especially  in 
his  clear  brown  eyes.  The  chief  characteristics  of  the 
man's  physical  nature  were  an  unconquerable  and 
devoted  energy  that  could  defy  sickness  and  pain,  and 
a  very  markedly  ascetic  temperament.  Spiritually, 
what  was  strongest  in  him  was  a  charity  that  was 
active,  unselfish,  wise  and  just,  and  that  was,  above 


CHAP.   Ill 


MARIA  59 


all,  of  that  sort  which  inspires  hope  in  those  whom  it 
helps,  and  helps  all  whom  it  finds  in  need. 

It  was  said  in  the  precincts  of  the  Vatican  that  Mon- 
signor  Saracinesca  was  likely  to  be  made  a  cardinal  at 
an  early  age.  But.  the  poor  people  in  the  Maremma 
said  he  was  a  saint  who  would  not  long  be  allowed  to 
suffer  earthly  ills,  arid  whose  soul  was  probably  already 
in  paradise  while  his  body  was  left  to  do  good  in  this 
world  till  it  should  wear  itself  out  and  melt  away  like  a 
shadow. 

Ippolito  Saracinesca  had  known  only  one  great 
temptation  in  his  life.  Unlike  most  people  who  accom 
plish  much  in  this  world,  he  was  a  good  musician,  and 
was  often  tempted  to  bestow  upon  a  perfectly  selfish 
pleasure  some  of  that  precious  time  which  he  truly 
believed  had  been  given  him  only  that  he  might  use  it 
for  others.  More  than  once  he  had  bound  himself  not 
to  touch  an  instrument  nor  go  to  a  concert  for  a  whole 
month,  because  he  felt  that  the  gift  was  absorbing  him 
too  much. 

This  was  the  friend  to  whom  Maria  Montalto  had 
come  for  advice  and  help,  and  of  whom  Castigli- 
one  had  said  that  she  could  not  have  chosen  a  better 


man. 


'There  is  no  one  in  the  Chapter-House/  he  said,  after 
the  first  friendly  greeting.  'Will  you  come  in  and  sit 
down?  I  was  trying  to  decide  about  the  placing  of 
another  picture  which  we  have  discovered  amongst  our 
possessions.' 

He  led  the  way  and  Maria  followed,  and  sat  down 


60  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  i 

beside  the  table  on  one  of  the  big  chairs  which  were 
symmetrically  ranged  against  the  walls. 

'  Please  tell  me  how  I  can  serve  you/  said  Don 
Ippolito. 

'It  is  not  easy  to  tell  you/  Maria  answered.  'I  am 
in  great  perplexity  and  I  need  advice  —  the  advice  of 
a  good  man  —  of  a  friend  —  of  some  one  who  knows 
the  world.' 

'Yes/  said  Monsignor  Saracinesca,  folding  his  trans 
parent  hands  and  looking  at  one  of  Melozzo  da  Forli's 
inspired  angels  on  the  opposite  wall.  'So  far  as  you 
care  to  trust  me  as  a  friend  and  one  who  knows  some 
thing  of  the  world,  I  will  do  my  best.  But  let  us  under 
stand  each  other  before  you  say  anything  more.  This 
is  not  in  any  way  a  confession,  I  suppose.  You  wish 
to  ask  my  advice  in  confidence.  Is  that  it?7 

'  Yes,  yes  !    That  is  what  it  is ! ' 

'And  you  come  to  me  as  to  a  friend,  rather  than  as 
to  a  priest?' 

'  Oh,  yes  !     Much  more.' 

'And  you  trust  me,  merely  as  you  would  trust  a 
friend,  and  without  the  intention  of  putting  me  under 
a  sacred  obligation  of  silence,  by  which  the  life  and  wel 
fare  of  any  one  might  hereafter  be  endangered.  Is 
that  what  you  mean?' 

'Yes,  distinctly.  But  that  will  never  happen.  I 
mean  that  no  one's  life  could  ever  be  in  danger  by  your 
not  telling.  At  least,  I  cannot  see  how.' 

'Strange  things  happen/  said  Don  Ippolito,  still 
looking  at  the  angel.  'And  now  that  we  understand 


CHAP.   Ill 


MARIA  61 


each  other  about  that,  I  am  ready.  What  is  the  dif 
ficulty?' 

Maria  rested  her  elbow  on  the  corner  of  the  big  table 
and  shaded  her  eyes  with  her  hand  for  a  moment.  It 
was  not  easy  to  tell  such  a  story  as  hers. 

'Do  you  know  anything  about  my  past  life?'  she 
began  timidly,  and  glancing  sideways  at  him. 

He  turned  his  brown  eyes  full  to  hers. 

'Yes/  he  said,  without  hesitation.  'I  do  know 
something,  and  more  than  a  little.' 

She  was  surprised,  and  looked  at  him  with  an  ex 
pression  of  inquiry. 

'I  have  always  known  your  husband  very  well/  he 
said.  'He  wrote  to  me  for  advice  when  there  was 
trouble  between  you.  I  was  in  the  Maremma  then.' 

'  And  it  was  you  who  advised  him  to  leave  me !  Ah, 
I  did  not  know  ! ' 

Maria  drew  back  a  little  proudly,  expecting  him  to 
admit  the  imputation. 

'No/  answered  Don  Ippolito.  'I  did  not,  but  he 
thought  it  wiser  not  to  take  the  advice  I  gave  him.' 

Maria's  expression  changed  again. 

1  Do  you  know  who  was  —  who  —  was  the  cause  of 
his  going  away?' 

'Yes.  I  am  afraid  every  one  knows  that.  It  was 
Baldassare  del  Castiglione,  and  he  is  in  Rome  again.' 

'Yes/  Maria  replied,  repeating  his  words,  'he  is  in 
Rome  again.' 

He  thought  he  had  made  it  easy  for  her  to  say  more, 
if  she  wished  to  tell  all,  but  she  was  silent.  He  had 


62  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  i 

heard  Montalto's  story  from  beginning  to  end,  and  upon 
that  he  judged  her,  of  course,  as  she  had  allowed  her 
self  to  be  judged  by  her  husband,  without  the  least 
suggestion  of  defence.  After  all,  how  could  either  of 
the  two  men  judge  her  otherwise?  How  could  she  tell 
now  what  she  had  once  called  the  truth?  How  near 
the  truth  was  it?  She  would  put  her  question  as  best 
she  could. 

'My  excuse  is  that  we  loved  each  other  very,  very 
much,'  she  said  in  a  low  and  timid  voice.  'It  was  long 
before  I  married/  she  added,  a  little  more  firmly,  for 
she  was  not  ashamed  of  that.  'But  we  parted7  —  her 
voice  sank  to  a  whisper  — '  we  parted  when  it  was  too 
late.  And  we  have  never  met,  nor  ever  written  one 
word  to  each  other  since.7 

As  she  pronounced  the  last  sentence  she  raised  her 
head  again,  for  she  knew  what  that  separation  had  cost, 
in  spite  of  all  —  in  spite  of  what  she  had  called  the 
truth. 

'That  was  right,'  Don  Ippolito  said.  'That  was  your 
duty;  but  it  was  brave  of  you  both  to  do  it.' 

She  felt  encouraged. 

'And  now  he  is  in  Rome  again,'  she  went  on.  'He 
has  come  on  leave  for  a  few  days.  He  came  on  pur 
pose  to  ask  my  forgiveness,  after  all  these  years,  because 
there  was  something  to  forgive  —  at  least  —  he  thought 
there  was  — 

She  broke  off,  quite  unable  to  go  on. 

'You  were  very  young/  suggested  Don  Ippolito, 
helping  her.  'You  had  no  experience  of  the  world. 


cHAf.  in  MARIA  DO 

Such  a  man  would  have  a  very  great  advantage  over  a 
very  young  woman  who  had  been  attached  to  him 
when  a  girl  and  was  unhappily  married.' 

But  Maria  had  clasped  her  hands  desperately  tight 
together  before  her  on  the  edge  of  the  table,  and  she 
bent  down  now  and  pressed  her  forehead  upon  them. 
She  spoke  in  broken  wrords. 

'No,  no  !  I  know  it  now  !  It  was  not  —  not  what  I 
thought  —  oh,  I  can't  tell  you!  I  can't,  I  can't!' 

She  wras  breaking  down,  for  she  was  worn-out  and 
fearfully  overwrought.  Then  Monsignor  Saracinesca 
spoke  quietly,  but  in  a  tone  of  absolute  authority. 

'Tell  rne  nothing  more/  he  said.  'This  is  not  a  con 
fession,  and  I  cannot  allow  you  to  go  on.  Try  to  get 
control  of  yourself  so  that  you  may  go  home  quietly.' 

He  rose  as  he  spoke,  but  she  stretched  her  hand  out 
across  the  table  to  stop  him. 

'No  — please  don't  go  away!  I  have  said  I  forgive 
him  —  if  there  is  anything  to  forgive  —  may  I  say 
that  he  is  to  come  back?  May  I  see  him  sometimes? 
We  are  so  sure  of  ourselves,  he  and  I,  after  all  these 
years  — 

Monsignor  Saracinesca' s  brows  bent  with  a  little 
severity. 

'Montalto  is  living/  he  said,  'and  he  is  a  broken 
hearted  man.  Since  you  arid  he  parted  you  have 
borne  his  name  as  honourably  as  you  could,  you  have 
done  what  was  in  your  power  to  atone  for  your  fault 
by  not  seeing  your  lover.  I  am  frank,  you  see.  Mont- 
alto  knows  how  you  have  lived  and  is  not  unjust  nor 


v» 

% 


64  A  LADY  OF 'ROME 

ungrateful.     But  for  his  mother,  I  think  a  reconcilia 
tion  would  be  possible/ 

Maria  started  at  the  words,  and  turned  even  paler 
than  before. 

'A  reconciliation!'  she  cried  in  a  low  and  frightened 
voice. 

'Yes/  answered  Don  Ippolito,  who  had  resumed  his 
seat.  '  He  loves  you  still.  It  is  my  firm  belief  that  he 
has  never  bestowed  a  thought  on  any  other  woman 
since  he  first  wished  to  marry  you.  I  know  beyond  all 
doubt  that  since  he  left  you  he  has  led  a  life  such  as  few 
men  of  the  world  ever  lead.  No  doubt  he  has  his  de 
fects,  as  a  man  of  the  world.  I  daresay  he  is  not  one 
of  those  men  with  whom  it  is  easy  to  live,  and  he  is  a 
melancholy  and  depressing  person.  But  so  far  as  the 
rest  is  concerned  - 

He  stopped,  feeling  that  he  was  perhaps  defending 
his  friend  too  warmly.  Maria  had  bent  her  head  again, 
and  sat  with  her  hands  lying  dejectedly  on  her  knees. 

'You  know  more/  she  said  sadly.  'He  has  written 
you  that  he  is  coming  back!' 

'No.  I  only  think  it  possible.  But  if  he  did,  could 
you  refuse  to  live  under  his  roof?  Has  he  wronged 
you?' 

'Pie  meant  to  be  just!     But  if  he  should  come  back 
-  oh,  no,  no,  no  !     For  God's  sake,  not  that !' 

She  bent  her  head  lower  still,  and  spoke  scarcely 
above  a  whisper. 

'Remember  that  he  has  the  right,  that  it  lies  with 
him  to  forgive,  not  with  you.  If  he  should  do  that, 


CHAP,  in  MARIA  65 

and  should  come,  would  you  not  be  glad  to  feel  that 
after  all  you  had  done  your  best?  That  so  far  as  you 
could  help  it  you  had  not  seen  your  lover,  nor  encour 
aged  him,  nor  given  him  the  slightest  cause  to  think 
you  would?  You  could  at  least  receive  your  hus 
band's  forgiveness  with  a  clear  conscience.  At  least 
you  could  say  that  you  had  not  failed  again ! ' 

Don  Ippolito  waited  a  moment,  but  Maria  could  not 
speak,  or  had  no  answer  ready  for  him.  He  went  on, 
quietly  and  kindly. 

'But  if  you  allow  Castiglione  to  come  back  and  live 
here,  and  to  see  you,  even  rarely,  it  will  all  be  different. 
Think  only  of  what  the  world  will  say;  and  what  the 
world  says  will  be  repeated  to  your  husband.  You 
have  broken  his  heart,  and  all  but  ruined  his  life;  re 
member  that  he  loves  you  as  much  as  your  lover  ever 
did;  think  what  he  has  felt,  what  he  has  suffered! 
And  then  consider,  too,  that  if  anything  has  softened 
the  bitterness  of  his  pain,  it  has  been  the  faultless  life 
you  have  led  since.  Before  God  it  is  enough  to  do  right, 
but  before  the  world  it  is  not.  Men  do  not  accept  the 
truth  unless  it  is  outwardly  proved  to  them.  That  is 
a  part  of  the  social  contract  by  which  our  outward 
lives  are  bound.  Allow  Castiglione  to  come  to  Rome, 
to  be  seen  with  you  and  at  your  house,  even  now  and 
then,  and  the  world  will  have  no  mercy.  It  will  say 
that  you  are  tired  of  your  loneliness,  and  have  taken  him 
back  to  be  to  you  what  he  was.  Then  people  will  laugh 
at  Teresa  Crescenzi's  clever  story  instead  of  believing 
it.  You  came  to  me  as  to  a  friend,  and  as  what  you  call 


66  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  i 

a  man  of  the  world,  and  I  give  you  what  I  think  will  be 
the  world's  view.     Am  I  right,  or  not?' 

There  was  a  long  pause.  Then  Maria  tried  to  meet 
the  good  man's  earnest  eyes,  but  her  own  wandered  to 
one  of  the  angels  on  the  wall. 

'You  are  right/  she  said  in  a  low  voice.  'Yes,  you 
are  right.  I  see  it  now.' 

Her  gaze  was  fixed  upon  the  lovely  frescoed  head, 
with  its  glory  of  golden  hair  and  its  look  of  heavenly 
innocence.  But  she  did  not  see  it;  she  was  thinking 
that  if  she  did  right  she  must  tell  Castiglione  never  to 
come  back,  and  that  the  aching,  lonely  life  that  had 
seemed  once  more  so  full  for  a  brief  space  was  to  begin 
again  to-morrow,  and  was  to  last  until  she  died.  And 
she  was  thinking  that  her  husband  might  come  back. 

Monsignor  Saracinesca  waited  quietly  after  she  had 
spoken,  for  since  she  admitted  the  truth  of  what  he 
urged  he  felt  that  there  was  nothing  more  to  say.  After 
a  little  while  Maria  collected  her  strength  for  the  effort 
and  rose  from  her  seat,  still  resting  one  hand  on  the 
great  table. 

'Thank  you/  she  said.  'You  have  been  very  kind. 
All  you  have  told  me  is  true.  I  shall  try  to  follow 
your  advice.' 

'I  hope  you  will/  answered  the  Churchman.  'You 
will  not  find  it  so  hard  as  you  think.' 

She  smiled  faintly,  as  gentle  people  do  sometimes 
when  they  are  in  great  pain  and  well-disposed  persons 
tell  them  that  suffering  is  all  a  matter  of  imagination. 

'  Oh,  no ! '  she  answered.    '  I  shall  find  it  very,  very  hard/ 


CHAP,  in  MARIA  67 

The  grey-haired  man  sighed  and  smiled  at  her  so 
sadly  and  kindly  that  she  felt  herself  drawn  to  him 
even  more  than  before.  She  was  standing  close  to 
him  now,  and  looked  up  trustfully  to  his  spiritual  face 
and  deeply  thoughtful  eyes. 

'I  did  not  know  I  loved  him  so  much  till  he  came 
back/  she  said  simply.  'How  could  I?  I  did  not 
guess  that  I  had  forgiven  him  long  ago ! ' 

1  Poor  child  !     God  help  you  ! ' 

'I  need  help.'  She  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then 
looked  down.  'Do  you  write  to  my  husband?7  she 
asked  timidly. 

'Sometimes.  I  have  little  time  for  writing  letters. 
Should  you  like  to  send  him  any  message?' 

'Oh,  no!'  she  cried  in  a  startled  tone.  'But  oh,  if 
you  write  to  him,  don't  urge  him  to  come  back !  Don't 
make  him  think  it  is  his  duty.  It  cannot  be  his  duty 
to  make  any  one  so  unhappy  as  I  should  be ! ' 

'I  shall  not  give  him  any  advice  whatever  unless  he 
asks  for  it,'  replied  Don  Ippolito,  'and  if  he  does,  I 
shall  answer  that  I  think  he  should  write  to  you  directly, 
for  I  would  rather  not  try  to  act  as  his  adviser.  I  told 
you  that  he  did  not  take  my  advice  the  first  time.' 

'  Yes  —  but  —  you  have  been  so  kind  !  Would  you 
tell  me  what  you  wished  him  to  do  then  ? ' 

The  priest  thought  a  moment. 

'I  cannot  tell  you  that,'  he  said  presently. 

Maria  looked  surprised,  and  shrank  back  a  little,  sus 
pecting  that  he  had  suggested  some  course  which  might 
have  offended  or  hurt  her.  He  understood  intuitively. 


68  A    LADY    OF   ROME 


PART  I 


'It  would  be  a  betrayal  of  confidence  to  Montalto/ 
he  added,  '  to  tell  you  what  I  advised  him,  and  what  he 
did  not  do.  But  I  still  think  it  would  have  been  better 
for  both  of  you  if  he  had  done  it.' 

Maria  looked  puzzled. 

'I  am  sorry/  he  said,  in  a  tone  from  which  there  was 
no  appeal,  'but  I  cannot  tell  you.' 

She  looked  at  him  a  little  hardly  at  first;  then  she 
remembered  what  every  one  in  Rome  knew,  that  the 
delicate,  shadow-like  man  with  the  clear  brown  eyes 
had  risked  being  tried  for  murder  when  he  was  a  young 
priest  rather  than  betray  a  confession  which  had  been 
anything  but  formal.  Her  tired  face  softened  as  she 
thought  of  that. 

'I  am  sorry  I  asked  you/  she  said.  'I  did  not  mean 
to  be  inquisitive.' 

'It  was  natural  that  you  should  ask  the  question/ 
he  answered,  '  but  it  would  not  have  been  quite  honour 
able  in  me  to  answer  it.' 

'I  trust  you  all  the  more  because  you  refused  me/ 
she  said.  'And  now  I  must  be  going,  for  I  have  kept 
you  a  long  time.' 

'Scarcely  a  quarter  of  an  hour.'  He  smiled  as  he 
glanced  at  the  hideous  modern  clock  on  the  table. 

She  left  him  after  thanking  him  and  pressing  his  thin, 
kindly  hand,  and  she  made  her  way  back  to  the  church, 
feeling  a  little  faint. 

When  she  was  gone  Monsignor  Saracinesca  returned 
to  the  question  of  the  picture  which  was  to  be  hung, 
but  for  a  while  he  could  not  give  it  all  the  attention 


CHAP.   Ill 


MARIA  69 


that  a  beautiful  Hans  Memling  deserved.  He  was 
thinking  of  what  he  had  said  to  Maria,  and  not  only 
of  that,  but  of  what  he  had  said  to  Baldassare  del 
Castiglione  a  quarter  of  an  hour  earlier. 

For  that  was  the  coincidence  which  had  brought 
the  two  together  that  morning  at  the  door  of  the  church. 
Castiglione  had  taken  it  into  his  head  to  see  Don  Ippolito 
on  the  same  day;  like  Maria,  he  had  telephoned  to  the 
palace  and  had  learned  that  his  old  acquaintance  was 
usually  to  be  found  in  the  Sacristy  about  eleven;  being 
a  soldier,  he  had  gone  punctually  at  the  hour,  whereas 
Maria  had  not  arrived  till  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes 
later,  and  it  was  therefore  almost  a  certainty  that  they 
should  meet. 

It  had  not  been  easy  for  Don  Ippolito,  taken  by  sur 
prise  as  he  was.  But  Castiglione  had  put  his  case  as 
one  man  of  honour  may  to  another,  and  had  told  as 
much  of  the  truth  as  he  might  without  casting  the 
least  slur  on  Maria's  good  name.  He  had  loved  her 
before  her  marriage,  he  had  said;  he  loved  her  still. 
After  she  had  been  married  he  had  left  her  no  peace, 
and  Montalto  had  made  him  the  reason  for  leaving  her. 
She  had  bidden  him,  Castiglione,  to  go  away  and  never 
see  her  again.  He  had  so  far  obeyed  as  to  stay  away 
several  years.  He  had  come  back  at  last  to  ask  her 
forgiveness ;  he  was  not  sure  of  obtaining  it  —  he  had 
not  yet  met  her  in  the  church  —  but  he  came  to  Don 
Ippolito  as  a  friend.  His  love  for  Maria  was  great,  he 
said,  but  even  if  she  forgave  him,  he  would  never  see 
her  again  rather  than  be  the  cause  of  any  further  trouble 


70  A    LADY    OF    HOME  PART  i 

or  anxiety  to  her.  What  did  Don  Ippolito  think  ? 
Don  Ippolito  considered  the  matter  for  a  few  minutes, 
and  then  said  that  in  his  opinion  any  renewal  of  friendly 
intercourse  between  Castiglione  and  the  Countess 
would  surely  bring  trouble  and  would  inevitably  cause 
her  anxiety.  If  Castiglione  loved  her  in  the  way  he 
believed  he  did,  he  would  think  more  of  her  welfare  than 
of  the  pleasure  he  would  have  in  seeing  her.  If  he  was 
sure  that  his  thoughts  of  her  were  what  he  represented 
them  to  be,  he  could  write  to  her,  and  she  might  write 
to  him  if  she  thought  fit.  The  prelate  refused  to  say 
more  than  that,  but  the  opinion  was  delivered  in  such 
manly  and  direct  words  that  Castiglione  was  much 
impressed  by  it;  and  when,  in  the  church,  he  had  gen 
erously  offered  to  leave  Rome  at  once,  because  he  saw 
in  Maria's  face  all  the  trouble  and  anxiety  he  feared 
for  her,  he  had  spoken  with  Ippolito  Saracinesca's 
honourable  words  still  ringing  in  his  ears.  It  was  no 
wonder  if  he  told  Maria  that  she  could  not  have  chosen 
a  better  man  of  whom  to  ask  help  and  advice;  and 
though  he  knew  what  that  advice  would  be,  and  felt 
sorrowfully  sure  that  she  would  try  to  follow  it,  he 
almost  smiled  at  the  coincidence  as  he  watched  her 
cross  the  nave  in  the  direction  of  the  Sacristy. 

And  now,  when  she  came  back  into  the  Basilica,  she 
retraced  her  steps  towards  the  tomb  of  Leo  Twelfth. 
Again  she  stopped  a  moment  and  almost  knelt  as  she 
passed  before  the  Julian  Chapel  and  wrent  on  to  the 
north  aisle;  but  when  the  small  gate  before  which  she 
had  knelt  with  Castiglione  was  in  sight  she  paused  in 


CHAP.    Ill 


MARIA  71 


the  shadow  of  the  pillar  and  leant  against  the  marble, 
as  if  she  were  very  tired. 

Till  then  she  had  not  dared  to  ask  herself  what  she 
meant  to  do,  but  when  she  saw  the  place  where  she  had 
so  lately  touched  Castiglione's  hand  in  forgiveness  of 
the  past,  the  truth  rushed  back  upon  her,  as  the  winter's 
tide  turns  from  the  ebb  to  storm  upon  the  beaten  shore. 

It  was  upon  her,  and  she  felt  that  it  would  sweep  her 
from  her  feet  and  drown  her ;  and  it  was  not  the  imaged 
truth  she  had  taught  herself  to  believe  those  many 
years.  She  gazed  at  the  closed  gate,  and  she  knew 
why  she  had  forgiven  her  lover  at  last.  It  was  because 
she  wished  to  forgive  herself,  and  she  had  found  it  easy, 
shamefully  easy.  The  hour  of  evil  came  back  to  her 
memory  with  frightful  vividness,  and  now  her  pale 
cheek  burned  with  shame  and  she  pressed  it  hard  against 
the  icy  marble;  and  she  forced  her  eyes  to  stay  wide 
open,  lest  if  she  shut  them  for  an  instant,  she  should  see 
what  she  remembered  so  horribly  well. 

She  would  not  go  to  the  gate  again,  now;  the  words 
she  had  said  there  had  been  false  and  untrue,  the  prayer 
she  had  breathed  there  had  been  a  blasphemy  and 
nothing  else.  For  years  and  years  she  had  lived  in  the 
mortal  sin  of  those  brief  moments;  unconfessing  and 
unpardoned  of  God,  she  had  gone  to  Communion  month 
after  month,  telling  herself  that  she  was  an  innocent, 
suffering  woman,  doing  her  best  to  atone  for  another's 
crime ;  yet  she  had  always  felt  in  the  dark  hiding-places 
of  her  heart  the  knowledge  that  it  was  all  untrue,  that 
she  had  been  less  sinned  against  than  herself  sinning, 


72  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  i 

and  that  if  she  would  die  in  the  faith  in  which  she  had 
been  brought  up,  and  in  the  hope  of  life  hereafter,  she 
must  some  day  humble  herself  and  her  pride  to  the 
earth,  and  ask  of  God  and  man  the  pardon  she  had 
granted  just  now  as  if  it  were  hers  to  give. 

It  was  too  much;  it  was  more  than  she  could  bear. 
In  her  anger  and  hatred  of  herself  she  found  strength 
to  turn  from  the  pillar  and  to  go  on  straight  and  quickly 
to  the  door.  Two  or  three  soldiers  who  had  wandered 
in  were  just  leaving  the  Basilica;  they  lifted  the  heavy 
curtain  for  her  and  she  thanked  them  mechanically 
and  passed  out,  holding  her  head  high. 


CHAPTER  IV 

MARIA  hardly  knew  how  she  had  come  home.  She 
had  no  distinct  recollection  of  having  taken  a  cab,  nor 
of  having  driven  through  the  city,  nor  of  having  paid 
a  cabman  when  she  reached  the  Via  San  Martino. 
There  are  times  when  unconscious  cerebration  is  quite 
enough  for  the  ordinary  needs  of  life.  Maria  neither 
fainted  nor  behaved  in  any  unusual  way  during  the 
half-hour  that  elapsed  between  her  leaving  the  pillar 
against  which  she  had  leant  in  the  church  and  the 
moment  when  she  entered  her  own  room.  Even  then 
she  hardly  knew  that  she  gave  her  maid  her  hat  and 
gloves  and  smoothed  her  hair  before  she  went  to  her 
sitting-room  to  be  alone. 

But  when  she  was  there,  in  her  favourite  seat  with 
her  little  table  full  of  books  beside  her,  her  footstool  at 
her  feet  and  her  head  resting  at  last  against  a  small 
silk  cushion  on  the  back  of  the  chair  —  then  the  one 
thought  that  had  taken  possession  of  her  pronounced 
itself  aloud  in  the  quiet  room. 

'I  have  been  a  very  wicked  wroman.' 

That  was  all,  and  she  said  it  aloud  only  once ;  but  the 
words  went  on  repeating  themselves  again  and  again  in 
her  brain,  while  she  leaned  back  and  stared  steadily  at 
the  blank  of  the  tinted  ceiling;  and  for  a  time  she  turned 

73 


74  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PAKT  i 

her  head  wearily  from  side  to  side  on  the  cushion,  as 
people  do  who  have  little  hope,  and  fear  that  the  very 
worst  is  close  at  hand. 

For  many  years  she  had  sustained  a  part  which  her 
pride  had  invented  to  quiet  her  conscience.  If  it  were 
not  so,  if  she  had  really  been  the  outraged  victim  of  a 
moment's  madness,  knowing  herself  quite  innocent, 
why  had  she  not  gone  to  her  husband,  as  an  honest 
woman  should,  to  ask  for  protection  and  to  demand 
justice?  Because  she  loved  Castiglione  still,  perhaps; 
because  she  was  willing  to  sacrifice  everything  rather 
than  accuse  him;  because  she  would  rather  be  dis 
honoured  in  her  husband's  eyes  than  see  her  lover  dis 
graced  before  the  world.  But  that  was  not  true;  that 
was  impossible.  If  Baldassare  del  Castiglione  had  been 
the  wretch  she  had  the  courage  to  tell  him  he  was  when 
she  bade  him  leave  her  for  ever,  Maria  Montalto  would 
not  have  hesitated  an  instant.  He  should  have  gone 
where  justice  sends  such  men,  and  she  would  have  asked 
her  husband  to  let  her  end  her  days  out  of  the  sight  of 
the  world  she  had  known. 

Her  memory  brought  back  the  words  she  had  spoken 
to  Castiglione  long  ago  under  the  ilex-trees  in  the  Villa 
Borghese.  She  remembered  the  intonations  of  her 
own  voice,  she  remembered  how  she  had  quivered  with 
pain  and  anger  while  she  spoke,  how  she  had  turned 
and  left  him  there,  leaning  against  a  tree,  very  pale; 
for  she  had  made  him  believe  all  she  said,  and  that  was 
the  worst  a  woman  can  say.  She  had  called  hirn  a 
coward  and  a  brute,  the  basest  of  mankind ;  and  he  had 


CHAP,  iv  MARIA  75 

obeyed  her,  and  had  left  Rome  that  night  because  she 
had  made  him  believe  her. 

But  later,  many  months  later,  when  Montalto  solemnly 
accused  her  of  having  betrayed  him,  she  had  bent  her 
head,  and  not  one  word  of  self-defence  had  risen  to  her 
lips;  so  her  husband  had  turned  away  and  left  her,  as 
she  had  turned  and  left  her  lover.  He  had  been  under 
the  same  roof  with  her  after  that,  at  more  and  more 
distant  intervals  till  he  had  left  Rome  altogether;  but 
never  again,  when  they  had  been  alone  together,  had 
he  spoken  one  word  to  her  except  for  necessity.  Yet 
he  had  loved  her  then,  and  he  loved  her  still;  she  had 
seen  in  his  face  that  he  was  broken-hearted,  and  Mon- 
signor  Saracinesca  had  told  her  now  that  the  deep  hurt 
would  not  heal.  She  had  played  her  comedy  of  inno 
cence  to  her  lover  and  to  herself,  but  she  had  not  dared 
to  play  it  to  her  husband,  lest  some  act  of  frightful 
injustice  should  be  done  to  Baldassare  del  Castiglione. 

She  had  forgiven  Balduccio !  She  laughed  at  the 
thought  now  in  bitter  self-contempt.  Her  soul  and  her 
conscience  had  met  face  to  face  in  the  storm,  and  the 
expiation  had  begun.  She  must  confess  her  fault  to 
God  and  man,  but  first  to  man,  first  to  that  man  to 
whom  it  would  be  most  hard  to  tell  the  truth  because 
she  had  been  the  most  unjust  to  him,  to  Castiglione 
himself. 

That  was  to  be  the  answer  to  his  question.  There 
was  no  doubt  now;  he  must  go  away.  She  could  not 
allow  him  to  exchange  again  into  another  regiment,  in 
order  that  he  might  live  near  her  for  a  time,  nor  could 


70  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PAUT  i 

she  let  him  leave  the  service  altogether,  to  pass  an  idle 
life  in  Rome.  Every  word  that  Don  Ippolito  had 
spoken  was  unanswerable,  and  there  was  much  more 
that  he  had  not  said.  She  might  not  be  able  to  trust 
herself  after  all;  after  reconciliation,  friendship  would 
come,  cool,  smiling  and  self-satisfied,  but  behind  friend 
ship  there  was  a  love  that  neither  could  hide  long,  and 
beyond  love  there  was  human  passion,  strong  and  wake 
ful,  with  burning  eyes  and  restless  hands,  waiting  till 
the  devil  opportunity  should  come  suddenly  and  spread 
his  dusky  wings  as  a  tent  and  a  shelter  for  sin.  Maria 
wTas  still  brave  enough  to  fear  that,  and  something  told 
her  that  fear  of  herself  must  be  the  first  step  on  which 
to  rise  above  herself. 

She  left  her  seat  at  last  and  sat  down  at  a  table  to 
write  to  Castiglione ;  but  when  she  tried  to  word  a  note 
it  was  not  easy.  It  would  not  be  wise,  either,  for  such 
words  as  she  wished  to  send  him  are  better  not  written 
down.  Maria  realised  this  before  she  had  penned  three 
lines,  and  she  tore  the  bit  of  paper  to  shreds  at  once. 
Baldassare  was  stopping  with  cousins,  and  a  note  might 
fall  into  light-fingered  hands. 

She  rang  the  bell  and  told  Agostino  to  telephone  to 
the  Conte  del  Castiglione  saying  that  she  would  be  glad 
to  see  him  the  next  day  at  half-past  two,  if  he  could 
come  then.  In  a  few  moments  the  servant  brought 
back  the  answer.  The  Conte  had  been  at  the  telephone 
himself  and  would  do  himself  the  honour  of  calling  on 
the  Signora  Contessa  on  the  morrow  at  half-past  two. 

The  formal  reply  was  so  like  his  messages  of  old  days 


CHAP,  iv  MARIA  77 

that  it  sent  a  little  thrill  through  her.  Often  and  often 
he  had  come  at  that  quiet  hour,  when  Mont-alto  was 
always  out  of  the  way,  and  each  time  he  had  found 
some  new  way  of  telling  her  that  he  loved  her ;  and  she, 
in  turn,  had  listened  and  had  laughingly  scolded  him, 
telling  him  that  she  had  grown  from  a  silly  girl  into  a 
grave  Roman  matron,  and  would  have  no  more  of  his 
boyish  love-making;  and,  moreover,  that  if  he  was 
always  going  to  make  love  to  her  she  would  refuse  to 
receive  him  the  very  next  time  he  tried  to  see  her  at  the 
hour  when  she  was  alone.  And  yet  she  listened  to  his 
voice,  and  he  saw  her  lip  quiver  sometimes  and  her  soft 
pallor  grow  warmer;  and  always,  wrhen  he  sent  a  mes 
sage  asking  to  see  her  at  half-past  two,  the  answer  had 
been  that  she  would  probably  be  at  home,  and  that  he 
might  try  if  he  liked ;  and  when  he  came,  she  was  there, 
and  alone,  and  ready  to  laugh,  and  scold,  and  listen, 
expecting  no  danger  and  not  wittingly  thinking  any 
evil. 

So  his  message  to-day  startled  her  senses,  as  a  little 
accidental  pressure  on  the  scar  of  an  old  wound  some 
times  sends  a  wave  of  the  forgotten  pain  through  the 
injured  nerve.  It  was  like  a  warning. 

When  she  was  alone  she  sat  down  in  the  deep  chair 
again  and  leaned  back.  It  was  wrong  to  be  so  glad  that 
she  was  to  see  him  the  next  day,  but  she  could  not  help 
it;  and  besides,  it  was  to  be  the  last  time  for  so  long, 
perhaps  for  ever.  Surely,  after  all  that  she  had  suf 
fered,  she  might  allow  herself  that  little  joy  before  the 
unending  separation  began ! 


78  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  i 

She  was  already  far  from  the  bitter  self-reproach  of  a 
few  minutes  ago,  and  the  mere  thought  of  his  coming 
had  wrought  the  change.  Was  it  not  in  order  to  be 
just  to  him  at  last  that  she  had  sent  for  him?  Might 
there  not  be  a  legitimate  moral  satisfaction  in  humbling 
herself  before  him,  and  in  the  thought  that  she  was 
about  to  lift  a  heavy  burden  from  his  heart  ?  Moreover, 
to  be  for  ever  gloomily  pondering  on  her  past  fault, 
now  that  she  had  acknowledged  it  and  was  sorry  for  it, 
would  surely  be  morbid. 

As  for  the  religious  side  of  the  matter,  she  would 
make  her  peace  with  heaven  at  once.  She  would  put 
on  a  brown  veil  and  go  to  the  Capuchin  church  that 
very  afternoon  and  confess  all  to  Padre  Bonaventura, 
of  whom  she  had  so  often  heard,  but  who  would  never 
know  who  she  was.  He  would  impose  some  grave  and 
wearisome  penance,  no  doubt;  Capuchin  monks  are 
notably  more  severe  in  that  respect  than  other  con 
fessors.  He  would  perhaps  bid  her  read  the  seven 
penitential  psalms  seven  times,  which  would  be  a  long 
affair.  But  he  could  not  refuse  her  absolution  since 
she  was  really  so  sorry ;  and  the  next  morning  she  would 
get  up  early  and  go  to  the  little  oratory  near  by  and 
receive  the  Communion  in  the  spirit  of  truth  at  last; 
and  when  Castiglione  came  at  half-past  two  she  would 
have  grace  and  strength  to  tell  what  she  had  to  tell, 
and  to  bid  him  good-bye,  even  for  ever.  If  she  did  all 
this  she  would  earn  the  right  to  that  one  last  little  joy 
of  meeting. 

She  was  not  a  saint  yet ;  she  was  not  even  heroic,  and 


CHAP,  iv  MARIA  79 

perhaps  what  she  took  for  a  guiding  ray  of  light  was  any 
thing  but  that;  perhaps  it  was  little  better  than  a  will- 
o'-the-wisp  that  would  lead  her  into  far  more  dangerous 
ground  than  she  had  traversed  yet.  But  after  her 
resolution  was  made  she  felt  lighter  and  happier,  and 
better  able  to  face  the  world  than  she  had  felt  during 
that  long  week  since  Castiglione  had  come  back. 

Then  Leone  came  in,  straight  and  sturdy  and  bright- 
eyed;  and  he  marched  across  the  room  to  where  she  sat 
and  threw  his  arms  around  her,  as  he  sometimes  did. 
And  though  he  was  but  a  small  boy,  she  felt  how  strong 
he  was  when  he  squeezed  her  to  him  with  all  his  might 
and  kissed  her,  first  on  one  cheek  and  then  on  the 
other;  and  in  spite  of  herself  she  closed  her  eyes  for  a 
second  and  drew  one  short  breath  as  she  kissed  him  too. 
He  was  very  quick  to  see  and  notice  everything. 

'  Did  I  hurt  you,  mama  ? '  he  asked  almost  anxiously. 

'No,  dear!'  She  smiled.  'You  are  not  strong 
enough  to  hurt  me  yet,  darling/ 

He  drew  back  half  a  step  and  surveyed  his  mother 
critically,  with  his  head  a  little  on  one  side. 

'I  wouldn't,  of  course,'  he  said  condescendingly. 
'But  if  I  twisted  your  arm  and  hammered  it  with  my 
fist  I  could  hurt  you.  I  did  it  to  Mario  Campodonico, 
and  he's  nine,  and  he  howled.' 

'  Naughty  boy ! '  Maria  could  not  help  laughing. 
1  Why  did  you  hurt  poor  Mario  ? ' 

1  Poor  Mario  ! '  cried  Leone  scornfully.  '  He's  twice 
my  size,  and  he's  learning  to  ride.  Why  shouldn't  I 
hammer  him  if  I  can?  He  tried  to  take  away  a  roast 


80  A    LADY    OF   ROME  PART  i 

chestnut  I  was  eating.  It  was  in  the  Villa  Borghese 
only  yesterday.  He  won't  do  it  again,  though !  He 
howled.' 

Thereupon  Leone  faced  about,  marched  to  the  win 
dow,  and  climbed  upon  his  favourite  chair  to  look  for 
soldiers  in  the  street.  He  got  up  with  three  quick 
movements,  as  if  he  were  going  through  a  gymnastic 
exercise.  He  set  one  knee  and  both  hands  on  the  seat, 
then  put  the  second  knee  up  and  both  hands  on  the 
top  of  the  chair,  then  he  straightened  his  back  and  was 
in  position.  Maria  watched  him,  and  her  eyes  settled 
on  the  back  of  his  solid  little  neck  that  showed  above 
the  broad  sailor's  collar,  and  on  the  short  and  thick 
brown  hair  that  was  so  curly  just  at  that  place. 

But  presently  she  turned  away  and  mechanically 
took  a  book  from  the  low  table  beside  her.  Don  Ippolito 
had  said  that  Montalto  might  offer  her  a  reconciliation 
she  did  not  deserve,  and  might  come  back  to  take  her 
and  Leone  to  live  in  the  palace  again.  The  thought 
chilled  her  and  frightened  her,  for  she  could  guess  at 
his  expression  when  he  should  first  see  wdiat  she  had 
seen  every  hour  of  the  day  for  years.  Yet  any  father 
might  be  proud  of  such  a  child  —  any  father  !  Could 
such  a  'reconciliation'  be  lasting? 

That  afternoon  she  took  Leone  with  her  and  drove 
out  by  Porta  Furba  to  the  ruins  which  the  people  call 
Roma  Vecchia.  They  drove  across  the  great  meadow, 
and  when  they  could  drive  no  farther  they  got  out  and 
walked,  and  climbed  up  till  they  could  sit  on  one  of  the 
big  fragments  of  masonry  and  look  towards  the  west. 


CHAP.    IV 


MARIA  81 


Leone  had  been  rather  silent,  for  with  the  exception  of 
an  occasional  couple  of  mounted  carabineers  on  patrol 
they  had  hardly  met  any  soldiers  at  all.  And  now  they 
sat  side  by  side  in  the  sunshine,  for  there  was  a  cool 
breeze  blowing  from  the  sea  and  the  air  was  not  warm  yet. 

Leone  took  no  interest  in  any  pastimes  earlier  than 
the  age  of  armour  and  tournaments;  and  Maria  was 
glad  that  he  did  not  ask  her  questions  about  the  ruins, 
for  she  could  not  have  answered  him.  She  knew  nothing 
about  the  Quintilii  and  very  little  about  Commodus. 
She  only  knew  that  the  great  pile  was  commonly  called 
the  'Old  Rome/  and  that  she  loved  it  for  its  grand 
loneliness.  But  Leone  looked  about  him,  and  thought 
it  was  a  good  place  for  a  castle.  Next  to  soldiers  he 
loved  castles  and  forts. 

'If  this  belonged  to  me,  I'd  build  a  fortress  here/  he 
observed  gravely,  after  a  long  silence.  'I'd  build  a 
great  castle  like  Bracciano.'  He  had  been  taken 
there  on  a  children's  picnic  during  the  winter.  'But 
I'd  have  lots  of  guns  and  a  regiment  of  artillery  here 
if  it  were  mine/  he  added. 

'What  for?'  asked  Maria,  amused. 

'To  defend  Rome,  of  course/  answered  Leone. 

'But  no  one  is  coming  to  take  Rome,  child/  objected 
his  mother. 

'Oh,  yes,  they  may!'  He  seemed  quite  confident. 
'If  there  are  no  other  enemies,  there  are  always  the 
French  and  the  priests ! ' 

At  this  astounding  view  of  Italy's  situation  Maria 
could  not  help  laughing. 


82  A    LADY    OF   ROME 


are  good  friends  with  the  French  now/  she  said. 
'And  who  has  been  telling  you  that  the  priests  are  the 
enemies  of  Italy?' 

'Gianluca  Trasmondo  says  so/'  answered  Leone.  'He 
knows,  for  his  uncle  is  a  cardinal.  Besides,  no  priests 
are  soldiers,  are  they?  So  they  wouldn't  defend  Italy. 
So  they're  Italy's  enemies.' 

'You  are  wrong,  darling,'  answered  Maria.  'The 
priests  have  all  had  to  do  their  military  service  first.' 

'What?  And  wear  uniforms,  and  go  to  drill,  and 
smoke  Toscano  cigars?' 

'I'm  not  sure  about  the  smoking/  laughed  Maria; 
'but  they  have  to  serve  their  time  in  the  army,  just  like 
other  men.' 

'Of  course  you  know/  said  the  small  boy,  who  had 
perfect  confidence  in  his  mother's  facts.  'I  didn't. 
I'll  tell  Gianluca  to-morrow.  All  the  same,  this  would 
be  a  good  place  for  a  castle.  I  wonder  whose  the  fields 
are.' 

'I  don't  know,  dear.  You  may  run  down  to  the 
carriage  and  ask  Telemaco  if  you  like,  and  then  come 
back  and  tell  me.  He  knows  all  about  the  Campagna.' 

Telemaco  was  Maria's  coachman,  who  had  followed 
her  when  she  had  left  the  Montalto  palace  —  a  grey- 
haired,  placid,  corpulent  man  of  great  weight  and  over 
powering  respectability. 

Leone  jumped  up  and  ran  away  at  a  steady  trot, 
with  his  elbows  well  in,  his  fists  close  to  his  chest,  and 
his  head  back,  as  he  had  seen  soldiers  run  in  drilling. 
Maria  was  left  alone  for  a  few  minutes,  for  the  carriage 


MARIA  83 

was  on  the  other  side  of  the  ruins  and  two  hundred 
yards  away.  She  leaned  on  one  elbow  and  looked 
westward  at  the  distant  broken  aqueduct,  far  away 
under  the  sun.  She  was  thinking  of  what  she  should 
say  to  the  old  monk  in  the  Capuchin  church  later  in  the 
afternoon,  and  the  moments  passed  quickly.  Before 
she  had  determined  upon  the  opening  sentence,  the 
boy  came  trotting  back  to  her  up  the  little  hill.  lie 
stopped  just  before  her,  his  legs  apart  and  his  face 
beaming  with  pleasure. 

'Well/  he  said,  'what  do  you  think?  Shall  I  build 
a  castle  here  or  not?' 

'.I  think  not/  answered  his  mother,  smiling. 

'But  I  think  I  shall  when  I  am  big.  It  all  belongs  to 
me !' 

Maria  opened  her  eyes  in  surprise. 

•To  you,  child?     What  do  you  mean?' 

1 1 '  asked  Telemaco  whose  this  land  was.  He  said, 
"It  belongs  to  your  most  excellent  house."  I  said  just 
what  you  said  — "What  do  you  mean?"  He  said, 
"It  is  as  I  say,  Signorino,  for  the  land  here  belongs  to  his 
Excellency  your  papa,  and  if  you  see  one  of  the  mounted 
watchmen  in  blue  about  here,  he  will  have  the  arms  of 
your  house  on  his  badge."  That  was  what  Telemaco 
said.  So  you  see,  when  I  am  big  I  shall  build  a  castle 
here.  Why  do  you  look  sorry,  mama  ? ' 

'I'm  not  sorry,  darling/  Maria  answered  with  a  faint 
smile.  'I  was  thinking  of  the  time  when  you  will  be 
grown  up.' 

Leone  reflected  a  little. 


84  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  i 

'But  why  should  you  look  sorry  for  that,  mama? 
You  won't  go  away  and  leave  me  when  I'm  grown  up, 
will  you,  to  go  and  live  with  papa  in  Spain?' 

'No,  dear.     I  shall  certainly  not  do  that.' 

Another  pause,  longer  than  the  first,  during  which 
the  small  boy  watched  her  face  keenly,  and  she  shrank 
a  little  before  the  fearless  blue  eyes. 

'Why  does  papa  never  come  back  to  see  us?'  he  asked. 

She  had  expected  the  question  a  long  time,  and  had 
made  up  her  mind  how  to  meet  it  when  it  came ;  yet  she 
was  taken  by  surprise. 

'Your  father's  mother  is  a  great  invalid/  she  said, 
with  a  little  nervous  hesitation.  'He  does  not  like  to 
leave  her.' 

'He  might  come  here  for  a  day  sometimes/  answered 
Leone,  not  at  all  satisfied.  'He  doesn't  like  us.  That's 
the  reason.  I  know  it  is.  He  doesn't  want  us  to  live 
in  the  palace.  That's  why  we  live  where  we  do.' 

'Hush!  You  must  not  say  that,  my  dear.  The 
palace  is  very  gloomy,  and  I  chose  to  live  in  a  more 
cheerful  part  of  the  city.' 

'I  like  it  better,  too/  said  the  boy  in  a  tone  of  reflec 
tion.  'But  all  other  people  live  in  their  own  palaces, 
all  the  same.' 

'Most  of  our  friends  are  many  in  a  family,  dear. 
But  we  are  only  you  and  I.' 

A  silence,  during  which  the  child's  brain  was  weigh 
ing  these  matters  in  the  balance. 

'I'm  glad  papa  never  comes  back/  he  said  at  last. 
'You  are,  too.' 


MARIA  85 

Without  waiting  for  an  answer,  and  as  if  to  give  vent 
to  his  feelings,  he  turned  away,  picked  up  a  small  stone, 
and  threw  it  as  far  as  he  could  over  the  green  grass 
below  the  ruins  —  presumably  at  an  imaginary  enemy 
of  Italy.  He  watched  it  as  it  fell,  and  did  not  seem 
satisfied  with  his  performance. 

1 1  suppose  David  was  bigger  than  I  am  when  he  killed 
the  giant  with  a  pebble/  he  observed  rather  wistfully. 

They  drove  home. 

'Why  didn't  you  know  that  the  land  out  there  be 
longs  to  us,  mama?'  asked  Leone,  after  a  long  silence, 
when  they  were  near  the  Porta  San  Giovanni. 

'I  know  very  little  about  the  property,  except  that 
it  is  large  and  some  of  it  is  in  the  Campagna.' 

'Why  not?' 

'Because  no  one  ever  told  me  about  it/  Maria  replied, 
feeling  that  she  must  find  an  answer.  The  boy  looked 
at  her  gravely,  but  not  incredulously,  and  asked  nothing 
more. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  sun  was  sinking  when  Maria  descended  the  long 
flight  of  steps  from  the  door  of  the  Capuchin  church  to 
the  level  of  the  street,  and  under  the  grey  veil  she  wore 
her  cheeks  were  wet  with  undried  tears.  But  she  held 
her  head  up  proudly,  and  her  small  feet  stepped  firmly 
and  lightly  on  the  stones. 

She  was  not  in  a  state  of  grace  by  any  means,  and  the 
tears  had  not  been  shed  in  repentance  for  her  sins. 
She  hardly  ever  cried,  and  when  she  did  it  was  generally 
from  anger  and  bitter  disappointment.  The  moisture 
that  had  risen  in  her  eyes  that  morning  when  Castiglione 
had  offered  to  go  away  for  her  sake  had  not  overflowed ; 
but  now,  when  she  had  left  the  confessional  without  the 
expected  absolution,  and  had  seen  the  hard-faced  old 
monk  in  brown  come  out  of  his  box  and  stalk  stiffly 
away  to  the  sacristy  as  if  he  had  done  something  very 
virtuous,  she  had  sat  down  in  a  chair  in  a  corner  of  the 
empty  church  and  the  burning  drops  had  streamed  over 
her  cheeks  like  fire  till  they  reached  the  small  hand 
kerchief  she  held  to  her  mouth  under  her  veil;  and  she 
had  bitten  hard  at  the  hem,  and  it  was  salt  with  her 
tears. 

She  had  been  misunderstood,  she  had  been  misjudged, 
she  had  been  rebuked.  She  had  been  told  that  she  was 

86 


CHAP,  v  MARIA  87 

a  very  great  sinner;  that  so  long  as  she  was  willing  to 
love  a  man  who  was  not  her  husband,  and  who  had  been 
her  lover,  God  would  not  forgive  her;  that  absolution 
came  from  God  and  not  from  priests,  and  that  it  was  out 
of  any  priest's  power  to  pronounce  it  while  she  was 
in  her  present  state  of  mind ;  that  she  might  come  again 
when  she  was  sure  that  she  wished  never  to  think  of 
that  evil  man ;  that  if  she  felt  that  she  owed  him  repara 
tion  for  having  been  unjust  to  him  she  should  write  to 
him  to  say  so,  asking  him  to  destroy  the  letter,  and 
bidding  him  never  to  come  near  her  again;  and  that  to 
see  him  again,  even  once,  since  she  still  loved  him, 
would  be  not  only  a  deadly  risk  but  actually  a  mortal 
sin.  After  this  she  had  been  sternly  told  to  go  away, 
to  pray  for  grace,  and  to  be  particularly  careful  to  ob 
serve  days  of  abstinence  and  fasting,  as  the  devil  was 
everywhere  and  never  slept. 

Now  the  monk  who  had  heard  her  confession  was  a 
good  man  and  meant  well,  and  believed  that  he  was 
speaking  for  the  good  of  her  soul.  He  knew  well  enough 
from  the  penitent's  language  and  manner  of  speaking 
about  her  life  that  she  was  a  lady  of  Rome,  and  perhaps 
one  of  the  great  ones  who  sometimes  came  to  him  be 
cause  they  did  not  like  to  go  to  their  regular  confessors. 
But  this,  in  his  estimation,  was  the  best  of  reasons  why 
Maria  should  be  treated  with  the  same  severity  as  the 
poorest  and  most  ignorant  woman  of  the  people.  If 
she  had  come  to  him  with  a  religious  doubt  or  a  scruple 
concerning  dogma  he  would  have  treated  her  very 
differently,  for  he  was  something  of  a  theologian  and 


88  A   LADY   OF    ROMP]  PART  i 

had  a  monk's  love  of  controversy.  But  she  carne  to 
him  simply  as  a  woman,  with  a  perfectly  evident  mortal 
sin  on  her  conscience,  and  what  he  considered  a  per 
fectly  evident  desire  to  compromise  things  by  pretend 
ing  that  her  lover  could  be  her  friend.  In  such  matters 
he  was  a  ruthless  democrat,  as  many  confessors  are. 
She  might  be  a  great  lady,  she  might  have  been  royal, 
for  all  he  cared;  what  was  just  to  one  woman's  soul  and 
conscience  was  just  to  another  woman's,  all  the  world 
over,  and  where  the  deadly  sins  were  concerned  there 
was  not  to  be  any  distinction  between  the  poor  and  the 
rich,  the  educated  and  the  ignorant.  On  the  contrary, 
educated  people  should  get  less  mercy,  because  they 
ought  to  know  better  than  their  inferiors,  and  because 
they  had  been  brought  up  in  surroundings  where  the 
baser  sins  of  humanity  are  supposed  to  be  less  common ; 
and  finally  and  generally,  because  we  are  told  that  the 
salvation  of  the  rich  is  to  be  regarded  as  a  much  more 
difficult  matter  than  that  of  the  poor.  It  was  certainly 
not  the  business  of  a  Capuchin  monk  to  reverse  matters 
and  make  it  easier. 

But  the  delicately  nurtured,  sorely  tried  woman  who 
had  come  to  unburden  her  conscience  of  a  sin  she  had 
only  fully  understood  within  the  last  few  days,  felt  as 
if  the  well-meaning  monk  had  thrust  out  his  bony  hand 
from  the  shadow  of  the  confessional  and  had  deliberately 
slapped  her  cheek. 

Therefore  Maria  Montalto  was  not  in  a  state  of  grace, 
and  in  her  mortification  she  called  the  austere  and 
democratic  Capuchin  several  hard  names;  she  said  to 


CHAP,  v  MARIA  89 

herself  that  he  was  ignorant,  that  he  was  a  common 
person,  and  that  it  was  a  scandal  that  such  a  prejudiced 
man  should  be  a  licensed  confessor.  She  bit  her  hand 
kerchief  hard,  tasting  the  salt  of  her  tears  in  the  hem 
of  it,  because  she  knew  in  her  heart  that  there  was  a 
little  truth  in  some  of  the  hard  things  she  had  been  told. 

Her  pride  and  nervous  energy  came  to  the  rescue 
after  a  while,  and  she  left  the  church  to  walk  home 
through  quiet  streets  where  no  one  was  likely  to  meet 
her.  The  evening  breeze  would  dry  her  face  under  her 
veil,  and  her  anger  would  help  the  drying  process  too, 
for  it  kept  her  cheeks  hot.  That  morning  she  had  felt 
very  ill  and  tired  and  had  vaguely  expected  to  break 
down,  but  the  afternoon  in  the  Campagna  had  done  her 
good,  and  her  temper  did  the  rest.  Castiglione  would 
find  her  looking  wonderfully  well  when  he  came  the  next 
day  at  half -past  two. 

The  sun  had  set,  but  it  was  still  broad  daylight  when 
she  reached  the  top  of  the  Via  San  Basilic.  She  turned 
to  the  right  presently,  and  almost  ran  into  Teresa 
Crescenzi,  who  was  walking  very  fast  and  also  wore  a 
veil,  but  was  always  an  unmistakable  figure  anywhere. 

'Maria!'  cried  the  lively  lady  at  once.  ' Where  in 
the  world  are  you  going  alone  on  foot  at  this  hour?' 

'I  have  been  to  confession  and  I'm  going  home,' 
answered  Maria  without  hesitation,  and  smiling  at  the 
other's  quickness  in  asking  a  question  which  might 
certainly  have  been  asked  of  her  with  equal  reason. 

'So  have  I,'  answered  Teresa  with  alacrity.  'What 
a  coincidence ! ' 


90  A    LADY   OF   ROME  PART  i 

But  she  had  not  been  to  confession. 

'Good-bye,  dear  !'  she  added  almost  at  once,  and  with 
a  quick  and  friendly  nod  she  went  on  down  the  hill. 

Teresa  had  not  gone  far  when  she  turned  into  a  de 
serted  side  street  and  saw  Baldassare  del  Castiglione 
walking  at  a  leisurely  pace  a  little  way  in  front  of  her. 
A  much  less  ready  gossip  than  she  might  well  have 
thought  it  probable  that  he  and  Maria  Montalto  had 
just  parted,  after  taking  a  harmless  little  walk  together 
in  a  very  quiet  part  of  the  town. 

It  was  certainly  Castiglione  whom  she  saw.  There 
was  no  mistaking  his  square  shoulders  and  back  of  his 
strong  neck,  where  the  closely  cropped  brown  hair  had 
an  incorrigible  tendency  to  be  curly.  Teresa  had  often 
noticed  that,  for  she  admired  him  and  wished  that  he 
were  a  more  eligible  husband;  but  she  wras  not  very 
rich,  and  he  was  distinctly  poor.  She  often  saw  him 
in  the  summer,  and  it  had  not  occurred  to  her  till  his 
return  to  Rome  that  he  would  refuse  her  if  she  suggested 
that  he  might  marry  her.  That  was  the  way  she  put 
it,  for  a  lack  of  practical  directness  was  not  among  her 
defects.  She  had  supposed  that  he  had  really  quite 
forgotten  Maria  by  this  time,  although  her  pretty  tale 
about  them  was  founded  on  the  undying  and  perfectly 
innocent  affection  of  both. 

Now  before  she  overtook  Castiglione,  as  she  inevitably 
must  if  he  did  not  mend  his  pace,  she  hesitated  whether 
she  should  turn  back  quietly  and  take  another  street. 
For  she  had  not  been  to  confession.  Then  it  seemed 
to  her  that  it  would  be  dangerous  to  avoid  him,  for  he 


CHAP.    V 


MARIA  91 


was  walking  slowly,  as  if  he  himself  were  only  keeping 
out  of  the  way  in  the  side  street  for  a  while,  and  might 
turn  back  at  any  moment;  and  if  he  did,  he  would 
recognise  her.  So  she  decided  to  overtake  him  and  ask 
him  to  walk  with  her  till  they  could  find  a  closed  cab, 
which  was  what  she  wanted. 

Having  reached  this  decision  a  further  consideration 
presented  itself  to  her  mind.  He  would  hardly  believe 
that  she  could  be  coming  up  behind  him  without  having 
met  Maria,  who  had  certainly  been  with  him  and  whom 
she  had  just  left.  He  would  not  like  to  feel  that  this 
had  happened,  and  that  she  might  even  have  seen 
them  together.  It  would  be  more  tactful  to  be  frank. 

She  spoke  as  soon  as  she  was  close  to  him. 

'Good  evening,  Balduccio/  she  said  pleasantly.  'Will 
you  help  me  to  find  a  closed  cab  ? ' 

He  took  off  his  hat  without  showing  any  surprise, 
and  smiled  as  if  not  at  all  disturbed  by  the  meeting. 
But  then,  thought  Teresa,  he  always  had  good  nerves 
and  was  a  man  of  the  world. 

'We  can  get  one  at  the  Piazza  Barberini,'  he  said, 
lengthening  his  stride  to  keep  up  with  her,  for  he  saw 
that  she  was  in  a  hurry. 

1  Can  we  ?  I  feel  one  of  my  chills  coming  on,  and  I 
must  either  run  to  keep  warm  or  get  a  closed  carriage 
somewhere.  Do  you  mind  walking  fast?' 

'Not  at  all.' 

'Because  you  were  walking  very  slowly  when  I  saw 
you/ 

'Was  I?'     He  seemed  very  vague  about  it. 


92  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  i 

1  Yes ! '  she  laughed.  '  Dear  old  Balduccio !  You 
are  just  the  same  reserved,  formal  silly  old  thing  you 
were  when  we  went  to  the  dancing-class  at  Campo- 
donico's,  ever  so  long  ago  ! ' 

'Am  I?' 

'Yes.  But  as  I  just  happened  to  meet  Maria,  you 
need  not  pretend  to  be  vague.  You  know  how  frank 
I  am,  so  I'm  sure  you  would  rather  be  sure  at  once  that 
I  know,  and  that  I  will  not  tell  any  one  !' 

'Dear  friend/  returned  Castiglione  blandly,  'what 
in  the  world  are  you  talking  about?' 

Again  Teresa  laughed  gaily. 

'  Always  the  same !  But  as  I  met  Maria  Montalto 
only  a  moment  ago,  it's  not  of  the  slightest  use  to  tell 
me  that  you  two  have  not  been  for  a  little  walk  together  ! 
Do  you  think  I  blame  you?  Haven't  you  behaved  like 
a  couple  of  saints  for  more  years  than  I  like  to  remem 
ber?  No  one  can  find  any  fault  with  you,  of  course, 
but  for  Heaven's  sake  walk  in  the  Corso,  or  in  the  Via 
Nazionale,  where  every  one  can  see  you,  instead  of  in 
such  a  place  as  this  ! ' 

'But  I  have  not  met  the  Countess  at  all/  answered 
Castiglione  with  some  annoyance,  when  she  paused  at 
last  to  take  breath. 

'  Oh  !  Oh  !  Oh  ! '  she  cried,  shaking  her  finger  at  him. 
'It's  very  wrong  to  tell  fibs  to  an  old  friend  who  only 
wishes  to  help  you ! ' 

1  You  may  think  what  you  please/  he  answered  bluntly. 
'I  have  not  met  the  Countess  this  afternoon.  I  have 
been  to  see  a  sculptor  who  has  his  studio  in  this  street.' 


CHAP.    V 


MARIA  93 


'Oh,  yes!'  cried  Teresa  incredulously.  'And  Maria 
told  me  she  had  been  to  confession.' 

'If  she  said  so,  it  is  true.  If  we  had  met  we  should 
have  stopped  to  speak.  We  might  have  walked  a  little 
way  together.  But  we  have  riot  met.' 

Teresa  Crescenzi  did  not  believe  him.  She  had 
managed  to  get  rid  of  her  veil  while  walking,  and  with 
out  being  noticed  by  him.  Women  can  do  such  things 
easily  when  a  man  is  very  much  preoccupied  about 
other  matters. 

'As  you  like/  she  answered,  and  her  tone  was  any 
thing  but  complimentary  to  his  truthfulness. 

But  he  did  not  take  up  the  question  after  having 
once  told  her  the  truth,  and  when  he  opened  the  door 
of  the  cab  they  found  in  the  Piazza  Barberini  there  was 
a  distinct  coolness  in  their  leave-taking.  He  gave  the 
cabman  her  address  and  went  away  on  foot  down  the 
crowded  Tritone  towards  the  city.  When  he  had 
walked  a  quarter  of  an  hour  he  looked  at  his  watch, 
stopped  a  policeman,  and  asked  for  the  nearest  public 
telephone  office. 

He  called  for  Maria  Montalto's  number  and  was 
answered  by  Agostino,  the  butler.  He  inquired  whether 
the  Countess  would  speak  with  him  herself,  and  pres 
ently  he  heard  her  voice. 

'I  am  Castiglione,'  he  said.  'Is  it  true  that  Teresa 
Crescenzi  met  you  in  the  Via  di  San  Basilio  when  you 
were  walking  home  from  confession  half  an  hour  ago?' 

'  Yes  —  but  how  - 

He  interrupted  her  at  once. 


94  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  i 

'I  am  in  a  public  office,  shut  up  in  the  box,  but  be 
careful  what  you  say  unless  you  are  alone.  I  met 
Teresa  a  moment  after  she  had  spoken  to  you,  and  she 
pretended  to  know  that  we  had  been  together  in  one 
of  those  quiet  streets/ 

1  How  abominable  ! ' 

'I  had  been  to  see  Farini,  the  sculptor,  close  by  San 
Nicolo.  It  was  natural  that  Teresa  should  suppose  we  had 
met,  but  I  was  angry,  and  so  was  she  because  I  denied 
what  she  said.  I'm  afraid  she  will  repeat  the  story.' 

1  Why  should  I  care  ? '     Maria's  voice  was  rather  sharp. 

'I  care,  on  your  account,  so  I  have  warned  you/ 

'Thank  you.     You  will  come  to-morrow?' 

'To-morrow,  at  half-past  two,  if  you  will  receive  me. 
Good-bye.' 

'You  shall  have  the  answer  then.     Good-bye/ 

Maria  went  back  to  Leone,  who  was  having  his  supper. 
The  child  was  unusually  silent,  and  ate  with  the  steady, 
solemn  appetite  of  strong  boys.  When  he  had  finished 
he  got  up  and  gravely  examined  his  armoury  before 
going  to  bed,  to  see  that  his  weapons  were  all  clean  and 
neatly  hung  in  their  places.  There  were  two  toy  guns, 
with  a  tin  revolver,  a  sword-bayonet,  and  a  sabre.  He 
went  through  this  inspection  every  evening,  and  Maria 
sat  by  the  table  watching  him  while  Agostino  took 
away  the  things. 

When  the  servant  was  gone  the  boy  came  and  stood 
beside  his  mother's  knee  and  looked  up  into  her  face 
earnestly. 

'I'm  sorry/  he  said,  after  a  long  time. 


CHAP.    V 


MARIA  95 


'For  what,  dear?' 

'You've  been  crying  because  I  asked  questions  about 
papa.  I'm  sorry/ 

She  leant  forward  and  took  him  in  her  arms  quietly, 
and  made  him  sit  astride  of  her  knees  and  look  into  her 
eyes  while  she  held  him  by  the  wrists. 

'Little  man/  she  said  gently,  'if  you  ever  say  any 
thing  that  hurts  me  I  promise  to  tell  you  just  wThat  it  is, 
because  I  know  you  will  never  mean  to  hurt  me,  even 
when  you  are  grown  up.  It  was  nothing  you  said  that 
made  me  cry  this  afternoon,  so  there's  nothing  for  you 
to  be  sorry  for  -  '  she  smiled  and  shook  her  head  - 
'nothing,  darling,  nothing,  nothing!' 

Leone  smiled  too. 

'I'm  glad,'  he  said,  and  then  his  face  grew  grave  and 
thoughtful  again. 

Maria  wondered  what  was  going  on  in  his  small  head 
during  the  next  few  seconds.  When  he  spoke  at  last 
she  started. 

'Then  it  was  the  priest?'  he  said  with  conviction. 
'I  hate  him.' 

'What  do  you  mean,  child?' 

'After  we  came  home  you  put  on  the  grey  veil  and 
went  out  alone.  That  is  always  confession,  isn't  it? 
When  you  came  home  you  put  up  the  veil  and  kissed 
me.  Your  cheeks  wrere  just  a  little  wet  still.  So  it 
was  the  priest,  wasn't  it,  who  made  you  cry?' 

Maria  would  not  deny  the  truth. 

'It  was  something  the  confessor  said  to  me/  she 
answered. 


96  A    LADY    OF   ROME  PART  i 

'I  told  you  so!'  returned  the  small  boy.  'I  hate 
him!' 

He  was  well  aware  that  if  he  stayed  another  moment 
where  he  was  his  mother  would  tell  him  that  it  was  very 
wrong  to  hate  anybody,  so  he  struggled  out  of  her  hold, 
slipped  from  her  knees  to  the  floor,  knelt  down  and 
began  to  say  his  small  evening  prayer  with  such  amaz 
ing  alacrity  that  Maria's  breath  was  taken  away  and 
she  could  not  get  in  a  word  of  rebuke;  in  spite  of  her 
self  she  smiled  over  his  bent  head  and  felt  very  irrever 
ently  inclined  to  laugh  at  his  manoeuvre.  But  before 
he  had  finished  her  face  was  very  grave,  and  when  he 
got  up  from  his  knees  she  spoke  to  him  before  she 
kissed  his  forehead. 

'Listen  to  me,  my  boy/  she  said.  'You  know  that 
I  always  tell  you  the  truth,  don't  you?' 

'Yes,'  answered  Leone.  'So  do  I.  It's  cowardly 
to  tell  lies.  Mario  Campodonico  is  a  coward,  and  he 
lies  like  anything.' 

'Never  mind  Mario.  I  don't  want  you  to  say  that 
you  hate  priests.' 

'It's  the  truth/  retorted  the  terrible  child.  'Shall  I 
say  I  love  them?' 

'No.  Listen  to  me.  There  are  good  people  and 
bad  people  all  over  the  world.  So  there  are  good  and 
bad  priests,  but  I  think  there  are  many  more  good  ones 
than  bad  ones.  You  would  not  hate  a  good  priest, 
would  you  ? ' 

'N — no/  answered  Leone,  rather  doubtfully. 

'Then  leave  the  bad  ones  to  take  care  of  themselves, 


CHAP.    V 


MARIA  97 


and  don't  think  about  them.  Do  you  suppose  I  hate 
you  when  you  are  naughty  and  break  things  in  a  rage 
and  try  to  beat  the  servants?  It's  the  naughtiness  I 
hate.  It's  not  you.' 

'It  feels  just  the  same/  observed  the  small  boy,  with 
great  logic. 

'But  it's  not/  answered  his  mother,  trying  to  keep 
from  laughing.  'And  when  you  are  bigger  you  will 
understand  that  one  should  not  hate  bad  men,  but  the 
badness  in  them.' 

'Well,  that's  better  than  nothing!  Then  I  hate  the 
badness  in  your  priest,  who  made  you  cry,  and  I'd  like 
to  hammer  it  out  of  him !' 

Maria  was  at  the  end  of  her  arguments. 

'He  meant  well/  she  said  weakly.  Tm  sure  he 
meant  well.' 

'When  he  made  you  cry  ?'  retorted  Leone  indignantly. 
'You  might  just  as  well  say  I  mean  well  when  - 

But  at  this  point  Maria  closed  the  discussion  abruptly 
by  picking  him  up  with  a  laugh  and  a  kiss  and  carrying 
him  off  to  bed.  It  wras  as  much  as  she  could  do  now, 
for  he  wras  very  sturdy  and  heavy  for  his  age. 


CHAPTER  VI 

WHEN  Castiglione  came  on  the  following  afternoon 
Maria  was  looking  wonderfully  well,  and  so  like  herself, 
as  she  had  been  within  the  first  year  of  her  marriage, 
that  he  could  not  help  looking  at  her  very  hard.  There 
was  only  the  small  patch  of  white  in  her  dark  hair  near 
the  left  temple,  which  Castiglione  could  not  remember; 
and  there  was  the  black  frock.  She  always  wore  black 
or  grey  now,  but  when  she  was  very  young  she  had  liked 
pretty  colours. 

Castiglione  himself  was  in  uniform,  for  he  thought  it 
possible  that  he  might  see  Leone,  and  he  would  not 
have  broken  his  promise  to  the  boy  for  anything.  He 
was  not  the  man  to  put  on  his  uniform  with  the  idea 
of  looking  better  in  it  than  in  a  civilian's  clothes,  still 
less  had  he  any  thought  of  recalling  old  memories  to 
Maria  by  such  theatrical  means.  Men  who  are  hard 
hitters  are  rarely  theatrical  in  small  things,  though 
some  famous  generals,  like  Napoleon,  have  been  great 
dramatic  artists. 

In  Italy  the  uniforms  of  the  cavalry  regiments  do  not 
differ  as  much  as  in  some  other  countries,  and  but  for 
the  colour  of  the  facings  and  a  few  smaller  details 
Castiglione 's  dress  was  enough  like  the  uniform  of  the 
Piedmont  Lancers  to  produce  a  much  deeper  impression 

98 


CHAT.    VI 


MARIA  99 


on  Maria  than  he  could  have  easily  understood.  The 
man  himself  had  changed  little.  lie  was  a  little  broader 
perhaps,  his  strong  features  were  a  little  more  marked, 
his  military  moustache  was  heavier,  but  that  was  all. 
At  thirty,  or  nearly  that,  he  was  much  the  same  active, 
energetic,  good-looking  young  officer  he  had  been  at 
two  and  twenty. 

They  instinctively  took  the  places  they  had  sat  in 
during  his  first  visit.  The  hour  was  the  same,  the  light 
in  the  room  was  the  same,  too ;  but  other  things  were 
not  the  same.  Castiglione  felt  it  as  soon  as  he  saw 
Maria's  face,  and  she  knew  it  when  she  heard  the  sound 
of  his  voice.  The  ice-wall  that  had  stood  between  them 
so  long  had  melted  away;  the  chasm  that  separated 
Maria  even  from  that  barrier  was  bridged.  It  would  not 
be  easy  now  to  touch  hands  and  part  again  for  years. 

The  stern  old  monk's  words  echoed  faintly  in  Maria's 
heart :  to  meet  thus  was  a  deadly  risk,  perhaps  a  mortal 
sin.  But  the  voice  was  far  away,  and  Maria  was  very 
happy  and  hopeful,  and  the  old  Capuchin  had  been  a 
common  and  ignorant  man  who  could  not  understand 
the  pride  and  self-respect  of  a  Roman  lady,  nor  the 
generous  honour  of  such  a  man  as  Baldassare  del  Cas 
tiglione. 

'I  was  right  to  telephone  last  night,  was  I  not?'  he 
asked  when  they  were  seated. 

'Yes,  quite  right.  But  Teresa  has  always  seemed  to 
be  a  good  friend.  She  may  have  been  annoyed  because 
she  had  made  such  a  stupid  mistake,  but  I  really  don't 
think  she  will  gossip  about  us.' 


100  A    LADY    OF   ROME  PART  i 

'I  hope  not,  though  I  don't  trust  her.' 

After  this  there  was  a  little  silence,  for  he  would  not 
make  conversation;  and  while  he  waited  for  Maria  to 
speak,  his  eyes  were  satisfied,  and  his  heart  beat  quietly 
and  happily  because  he  was  near  her.  He  did  not  feel 
the  heavy,  passionate  pulse  that  used  to  throb  in  his 
neck  when  he  came  near  her,  nor  the  dryness  in  his 
throat,  with  the  strange,  cool  quivering  of  his  own  lips. 
He  was  simply  and  quietly  happy,  and  he  trusted  him 
self  and  her. 

'  You  have  come  for  your  answer,'  she  said,  after  a  long 
time.  'It's  of  no  use  to  pretend  that  we  have  anything 
else  to  talk  of.  We  will  be  honest  with  each  other. 
There  is  no  one  to  hear  what  we  say,  and  we  have  nothing 
to  say  now  of  which  we  need  be  ashamed  before  God.' 

Castiglione  silently  bent  his  head  in  assent  and  waited. 

'  The  forgiveness  you  asked  of  me  yesterday,  I  should 
have  asked  of  you,  too/  Maria  went  on,  but  her  eyes 
looked  down.  '  I  ask  it  now,  before  I  say  anything  more.' 

'I  don't  understand,'  answered  the  man.  'How  can 
I  have  anything  to  forgive  ? ' 

'Balduccio,  do  you  remember  the  hard  words  I  said 
to  you  under  the  ilex- trees  when  we  parted?' 

'A  condemned  man  does  not  forget  the  words  of  his 
sentence.'  His  voice  was  dull. 

'I  called  you  a  coward  and  a  brute,  Balduccio,  and  I 
called  you  the  basest  of  mankind.' 

'It  was  your  right.' 

'No.  It  was  not.  I  take  back  those  words.  I  ask 
your  pardon  for  them/ 


CHAP,  vi  MARIA  101 

'What?'  His  voice  rang  in  the  room,  hoarse  and 
strong. 

'I  take  back  every  word.  I  was  the  coward.  I 
made  myself  believe  what  I  said,  and  I  knew  you  would 
believe  it  too.  I  have  been  a  very  wicked  woman  all 
these  years,  Balduccio.  I  have  been  wickedly  unjust 
to  you.  You  must  try  to  forgive  me.' 

Her  voice  had  sunk  very  low,  for  it  had  been  hard  to 
say;  but  his  almost  broke  in  his  throat. 

'Try?     Ah,  Maria - 

He  moved  quickly  to  come  near  her,  and  she  was 
aware  of  it.  Still  looking  down,  she  stretched  out  her 
hand  against  him. 

'Sit  still!'  she  said.  'Say  that  you  forgive  me,  if 
you  can.' 

'With  all  my  soul,'  he  answered,  drawing  back  into 
his  chair,  obedient  to  her  gesture. 

'Thank  you,'  she  said,  so  low  that  he  could  hardly 
hear  her. 

With  that  she  leaned  far  back  in  her  low  chair  and 
pressed  her  fingers  upon  her  eyes  without  covering  her 
face,  and  he  saw  the  warmth  come  and  go  in  her  soft 
pale  cheeks,  and  then  come  back  again.  Indeed,  it  had 
not  been  easy  for  her.  Presently  she  opened  her  eyes, 
and  folded  her  hands  on  her  lap,  and  gazed  happily  into 
his  face. 

'I  can  look  at  you  now,'  she  said  simply,  'and  it  is 
not  wrong.' 

'No,  indeed!' 

But  he  did  not  know  what  he  was  saying,  nor  what 


102  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  i 

he  should  say,  for  in  a  moment  she  had  changed  all  the 
greater  thoughts  of  his  life.  She  had  taken  from  him 
the  burden  of  the  old  accusation  which  she  had  made 
him  believe  was  just  in  spite  of  himself;  but  it  was  like 
lifting  heavy  weights  from  a  balance  very  suddenly; 
the  whole  mechanism  of  his  mind  and  conscience 
quivered  and  trembled  when  the  strain  was  gone,  and 
swung  violently  this  way  and  that. 

Presently  she  was  speaking  again,  and  he  began  to 
hear  and  understand. 

'I  am  not  going  to  pretend  anything/'  she  was  saying. 
'But  I  will  not  hide  anything  either.  No,  I  will  not! 
There  is  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of  now,  because  we  have 
made  up  our  minds  that  there  never  shall  be 
again.  We  promise  each  other  that,  don't  we, 
Balduccio?' 

'I  promise  you  that,  come  what  may,'  he  answered, 
well  knowing  what  he  said  now. 

'And  I  promise  the  same,  come  what  may/  she  said. 
'I  give  you  my  word  of  honour.' 

'You  have  mine,   Maria.' 

1  That  is  enough,  and  God  believes  us,'  she  said  gravely. 
'But  now  the  truth,  and  nothing  else.  We  are  not 
going  to  pretend  that  we  are  like  brother  and  sister. 
We  love  each  other  dearly,  and  we  love  as  man  and 
woman,  and  I  am  sure  we  always  shall,  now  and  for 
ever,  in  life,  and  beyond  death,  and  in  the  life  to  come. 
I  am  very  sure  of  that.' 

He  bent  his  head  and  nodded  slowly,  but  that  was 
not  enough  for  her. 


CHAP,  vi 


MARIA  103 


'Are  you  not  sure,  Balduccio?'  she  asked  after  a 
moment. 

He  looked  up  suddenly  with  blazing  eyes. 

'I  love  you  now/  he  said.  'I  have  loved  you  all  my 
life.  That  is  what  I  know.  If  there  is  a  God,  He  knows 
it,  for  He  made  it  so,  and  it  will  be  so  for  ever.  If  not, 
it  will  end  when  we  are  both  dead,  but  not  before.' 

'It  will  never  end/  Maria  answered.  'But  it  must 
not  be  a  weight  to  drag  us  down,  it  must  be  a  strength 
to  lift  us.  It  shall  be  !  Say  that  it  shall  be !' 

'I  will  do  what  I  can.' 

'Balduccio/  she  went  on  earnestly,  'it  has  lifted  us 
already.  It  has  made  you  live  a  better  life  than  other 
men,  though  you  do  not  believe  in  God.  And  though 
it  made  me  a  coward  for  a  long  time,  it  has  given  me 
strength  to  be  brave  at  last,  now  that  we  have  met 
again,  strength  to  tell  you  the  truth,  strength  to  ask 
your  forgiveness !  If  it  has  done  all  that  already,  what 
will  it  not  do  hereafter,  if  we  keep  our  promise  ? ' 

The  deep  and  fearless  light  was  in  her  dark  eyes  now, 
and  she  spoke  in  a  heavenly  inspiration  of  purity  and 
peace.  Castiglione  watched  her  with  a  sort  of  awe 
which  he  had  never  felt  in  his  life.  That  was  a  brave, 
high  instinct  in  him  that  answered  her  call;  it  was  the 
instinct  that  would  have  responded  if  he  had  been 
chosen  to  lead  the  forlorn  hope  in  a  fight  all  but 
lost. 

'You  are  a  saint/  he  said.  'I  am  not.  But  I  will 
try  to  follow  if  you  will  only  lead  the  way.' 

'No,  dear,  I  am  no  saint/  she  answered. 


104  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  i 

He  started  at  the  loving  word  she  had  scarcely  ever 
used  with  him,  and  she  saw  his  movement  and  under 
stood. 

'Why  not?'  she  asked.  'It  is  the  truth,  and  we  are 
not  the  less  safe  for  saying  that  we  love,  now  that  we 
have  promised.  No,  I  am  not  a  saint.  You  have  been 
better  than  I  in  all  these  years,  for  I  have  been  unjust 
to  you,  but  you  have  borne  it  patiently  and  you  have 
loved  me  still.  That  is  what  I  mean  when  I  say  that 
our  love  can  lift  us  up.  Do  you  see  ?  Only  —  we  must 
not  forget  the  others  - 

She  paused. 

'Montalto/  said  Castiglionc  gravely.     'I  understand.' 

'My  husband  and  my  son/  Maria  said.  'We  owe 
them  a  terrible  debt.' 

Castiglione's  eyes  softened. 

'It  is  for  their  sakes  that  we  have  promised/  she 
went  on.  'For  their  sakes  there  must  never  again  be 
any  earthly  taint  upon  our  love,  dear.7 

Once  more  the  tender  word  touched  him.  He  passed 
his  hand  over  his  eyes  as  if  to  hide  something. 

'If  you  were  only  free!'  he  sighed. 

Maria  made  a  little  movement. 

'The  very  thought  of  that  is  wrong/  she  answered 
bravely.  'You  must  not  think  of  it,  you  must  never 
say  it,' 

'I  wish  your  husband  no  ill/  Castiglione  answered, 
in  a  sterner  tone  than  she  had  heard  yet.  'I  did  him 
a  great  injury.  I  would  make  reparation  if  I  knew 
how.  But  I  am  a  man,  Maria,  a  man  like  any  other, 


CHAP.    VI 


MARIA  105 


and  I  love  you  in  a  man's  way,  and  if  Montalto  died  I 
should  want  you  for  my  wife,  as  you  should  be.  We 
have  promised  that  between  us  there  shall  be  no  word 
or  thought  of  which  we  need  be  ashamed,  even  before 
your  husband,  if  he  were  here;  but  more  than  that  I 
will  not  promise,  and  that  is  already  as  much  as  any 
man  could  keep.' 

Maria  shook  her  head  gravely  and  waited  a  moment 
before  she  answered. 

'I  should  owe  myself  to  his  memory  if  he  were  dead/ 
she  said  at  last.  'A  lifetime  of  faithfulness,  cost  what 
it  may,  is  not  enough  to  expiate  what  I  did.' 

Castiglione  judged  her  as  men  judge  the  women  they 
love,  and  he  knew  that  for  the  present  it  was  useless 
to  oppose  her.  He  folded  his  hands  and  listened,  and 
she  did  not  see  that  his  fingers  strained  upon  each  other ; 
nor  could  she  guess  that  his  heart  was  not  beating  as 
quietly  now  as  when  he  had  sat  down  opposite  her  a 
little  while  ago. 

'That  is  the  one  condition  on  which  we  can  see  each 
other,'  she  went  on.  '  There  must  be  no  thought  of  any 
earthly  union  —  ever  !  If  you  feel  that  you  are  strong 
enough  for  that,  Balduccio,  then  come  back  to  Rome 
as  soon  as  you  can.  If  you  can  exchange  into  your  old 
regiment  again,  do  so.  If  not,  come  now  and  then, 
when  you  can  get  leave.  We  may  see  each  other  once 
a  week,  at  least  once  a  week !  The  world  cannot  blame 
us  for  that,  after  all  these  years.  It  will  be  little  enough, 
once  a  week !  And  sometimes,  perhaps,  we  might  meet 
in  some  gallery,  in  some  quiet  museum  where  only  the 


106  A    LADY    OF    ROME 


PART   I 


foreigners  go,  and  we  could  walk  about  and  talk,  and 
the  world  will  never  know  it.' 

Castiglione  smiled  at  her  innocent  ignorance  of 
lovers'  tricks,  for  he  was  quieter  now,  and  very  happy 
at  the  thought  of  seeing  her  often.  It  would  never 
have  occurred  to  him  to  do  the  foolish  thing  of  which 
Teresa  Crescenzi  had  suspected  him  on  the  previous 
afternoon. 

4 The  great  matter  is  that  I  am  to  see  you/  he  said; 
'  that  the  separation  is  over,  and  that  we  love  each  other  ! ' 

'  That  —  yes  !  Oh,  that  above  and  beyond  all  things, 
and  for  ever  and  ever.' 

The  lovelight  was  in  her  eyes  as  she  gazed  at  him, 
and  her  parted  lips  were  delicately  beautiful.  Again 
his  hands  pressed  one  another  very  hard,  and  he  felt  that 
he  set  his  teeth.  He  suddenly  wondered  how  long  he 
could  keep  his  promise,  and  by  what  manner  of  death 
he  would  choose  to  end  his  life  when  he  felt  that  he  was 
going  to  break  it.  She  was  putting  upon  him  a  heavier 
trial  and  a  far  harder  expiation  than  she  knew.  Her 
eyes  were  so  dark  and  tender,  her  parted  lips  were  so 
sweet  to  see !  In  her  reliance  on  herself  and  him  she 
had  already  loosened  the  great  restraint  that  had  bound 
her  since  the  evil  hour;  she  cared  not  to  hide  the  out 
ward  looks  of  love.  She  even  longed  to  see  in  his  eyes 
what  she  felt  in  her  own. 

'You  love  me  less  than  I  love  you,  dear/  she  said 
softly.  'You  are  less  happy  than  I  am,  because  we 
are  to  meet  often ! ' 

Without  a  word  Castiglione  rose  from  his  seat  and 


CHAP,  vi  MARIA  107 

went  to  the  window  at  the  further  end  of  the  room, 
and  stood  there,  looking  down  through  the  slits  of  the 
blinds.  Maria  half  understood,  and  sighed. 

'Forgive  me,'  she  said,  rather  sorrowfully. 

'I'm  only  a  man,  Maria/  he  answered,  turning  his 
head.  'You  must  not  make  it  too  hard  for  me.  I  love  you 
in  a  man's  way,  and  you  have  made  me  promise  to  love  you 
in  yours.  I  must  learn,  before  I  can  be  sure  of  myself.' 

Maria  reflected  a  moment.  Her  thoughts  were  full 
of  an  ideal  sacrifice. 

'Balduccio!'  She  called  to  him  gently,  for  he  was 
looking  down  at  the  street  again.  '  Shall  I  give  you 
back  your  word  and  tell  you  to  go  away  for  a  long  time, 
if  it's  going  to  be  so  hard  for  you  ? ' 

'No!' 

The  single  syllable  was  rough  and  strong,  for  he  re 
sented  what  she  had  said.  She  rose  too  and  went  to 
him  at  the  window. 

'Are  you  angry  with  me?'  she  asked  humbly. 

His  hand  grasped  her  bare  wrist  and  tightened  upon 
it  almost  as  if  he  meant  to  hurt  her,  and  he  spoke  in 
short,  harsh  sentences. 

'No,  I  am  not  angry.  I  love  you  too  much.  You 
don't  understand  what  I  feel.  How  should  you?  I've 
been  as  faithful  to  you  as  you've  been  to  your  husband 
all  these  years.  And  now  I'm  with  you,  and  we  are 
alone,  and  we  love  each  other,  and  I'm  nothing  but  a 
man  after  all  —  and  if  you  look  at  me  in  the  old  way  I 
shall  go  mad  or  kill  you.' 

He  drew  her  wrist  roughly  to  him  and  kissed  her 


108  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  i 

hand  once,  roughly,  and  dropped  it.  He  had  done  that 
in  the  old  days  too,  and  Maria  saw  it  all  again  in  a  vio 
lent  flash,  as  men  see  danger  ahead  in  a  storm  at  night, 
lit  up  by  quivering  lightning. 

She  drew  breath  sharply  and  turned  away  from  him. 
She  leaned  upon  the  mantelpiece  and  rested  her  throb 
bing  forehead  upon  her  hands. 

'Oh,  why  have  we  these  earthly  bodies  of  ours?'  she 
moaned.  'Why?  why?  Why  could  not  God  have 
made  us  like  the  angels?' 

'Why  not,  indeed!'  echoed  Castiglione,  in  bitter  un 
belief. 

'Even  like  the  fallen  angels!'  she  cried  desperately. 
'They  fell  by  pride,  but  not  by  this!  Are  there  not 
temptations  for  heart  and  soul  and  mind  enough  to  try 
us,  to  raise  us  up  if  we  overcome,  to  damn  us  if  we  yield  ? 
Enough  to  send  us  to  hell  or  heaven  —  without  this  ? 
0  God,  that  what  Thou  hast  made  in  Thine  own  image 
should  be  so  vile,  so  vile,  so  vile  ! ' 

Her  despair  was  real ;  her  cry  came  from  an  almost 
breaking  heart.  Castiglione  came  to  her  now  and  laid 
his  hand  gently  upon  her  shoulder. 

'Maria!     Look  at  me,  dear!     Don't  be  afraid!' 

She  raised  her  head  timidly  from  her  hands  and 
turned  her  eyes  slowly  to  him,  more  than  half  afraid. 
But  when  she  saw  that  his  own  were  calm  and  grave 
again,  she  gave  one  little  cry  of  relief  and  buried  her 
face  upon  his  shoulder,  clinging  to  him  with  both  hands  ; 
and  her  touch  did  not  stir  his  pulse  now. 

'No,  I'm  not  afraid  of  you!'  she  softly  cried.     'It 


CHAP,  vi  MARIA  109 

was  only  a  moment,  dear,  only  one  dreadful  moment, 
for  I  trust  you  with  myself  as  I  would  trust  you  with 
my  soul !  Sometimes  -  '  she  looked  up  lovingly  to 
his  face  —  '  sometimes  each  of  us  must  be  brave  for 
both,  you  know.  As  we  are  now,  you  might  even  kiss 
me  once  and  I  should  fear  nothing ! ' 

He  smiled  and  bent  down  and  kissed  her  cheek;  and 
there  was  no  thought  in  him  that  he  would  not  have 
told  her.  But  then  he  gently  took  her  hands  from  his 
shoulder  and  made  her  sit  down  as  they  had  sat  before. 

'That  was  not  wrong,  was  it?'  she  asked,  with  a 
happy  smile. 

'No/  he  answered  quietly,  'there  was  no  wrong  in 
that,  neither  to  you  nor  to  the  others/ 

'I'm  glad,'  she  answered,  'so  glad!  But  it  would 
not  be  right  to  do  it  often.' 

'No,  not  often.     Not  for  a  long  time  again.' 

They  were  both  silent  in  the  ebbing  of  the  tide  which 
at  the  full  had  nearly  swept  them  from  their  feet.  At 
heart,  in  spite  of  all,  there  was  something  strangely 
innocent  in  them  both.  Castiglione's  friends  would 
have  wondered  much  if  they  could  have  understood  him, 
as  some  of  the  graver  sort  might.  Few  men  of  his  age, 
beyond  the  cloister,  knew  less  of  women's  ways  and 
women's  love  than  he;  few  soldiers,  indeed,  and  surely 
not  one  of  his  brother  officers.  To  wear  the  King's 
uniform  ten  years  in  the  gayest  and  smartest  cavalry 
regiment  of  the  service  is  not  a  school  for  austere  virtue 
or  innocence  of  heart.  All  that  Castiglione's  comrades 
noticed  was  that  he  talked  but  little  of  women,  who 


110  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  i 

were  often  the  chief  subject  of  the  others'  conversation, 
and  that  he  was  very  reticent  about  the  ones  he  knew7. 
They  respected  him  for  that,  on  the  whole,  though  they 
sometimes  chaffed  him  a  little  in  a  friendly  way.  They 
all  agreed  among  themselves  that  he  had  some  secret 
and  lasting  attachment  for  a  woman  of  their  own  class 
whose  name  he  succeeded  in  keeping  from  them  in  spite 
of  their  repeated  attempts  to  find  it  out.  He  was  such 
a  manly  man  that  they  liked  him  the  better  for  it ;  the 
more,  because  great  reticence  was  not  their  own  chief 
quality.  For  the  rest,  though  he  was  poorer  than  most 
of  them,  he  was  always  ready  to  join  in  anything  except 
a  general  raid  on  womankind.  He  played  cards  with 
them,  and  when  he  could  lose  no  more,  he  said  so;  he 
was  honest  in  matters  of  horseflesh  and  gave  sound 
advice ;  he  never  shirked  his  duty  and  left  it  for  another 
to  do;  he  was  good-natured  in  doing  a  comrade's  work 
when  he  was  asked  to  do  it  for  any  good  reason;  he 
was  the  best  rider  in  the  regiment,  and  he  never  talked 
about  what  he  had  done,  or  could  do,  with  a  horse;  he 
was  not  over  clever,  but  he  was  good  company  and 
told  a  story  with  a  touch  of  humour;  and  he  never 
borrowed  from  a  brother  officer,  nor  refused  to  lend,  if 
he  had  any  money.  Altogether,  he  was  the  best  com 
rade  in  the  world  and  everybody  liked  and  respected 
him,  from  the  rather  supercilious  colonel,  who  was  an 
authentic  duke,  and  the  crabbed  old  major,  who  had 
been  wounded  at  Dogali,  to  the  rawest  recruit  that  was 
drafted  in  from  a  Sardinian  village  or  a  shepherd's  hut 
in  the  Apennines. 


CHAP,  vi  MARIA  111 

But  none  of  all  those  who  liked  and  respected  him 
guessed  that  in  the  arts  of  love  he  was  considerably 
behind  the  youngest  subaltern  in  the  regiment,  at  least, 
so  far  as  his  own  experience  wras  concerned,  for  he  could 
have  written  volumes  about  that  of  the  rest  as  described 
by  themselves.  As  a  cadet,  indeed,  he  had  not  been  a 
model  of  austerity ;  but  he  had  fallen  in  love  with  Maria 
a  few  days  after  he  had  received  his  commission,  arid 
such  as  he  had  been  then  he  had  remained  ever  since, 
except  for  her.  If  his  colonel  had  known  this,  he  would 
have  smiled  sarcastically  and  would  have  said  that 
Castiglione  was  a  case  of  arrested  development,  the  old 
major  would  have  stared  at  him  stupidly  without  in 
the  least  comprehending  that  such  a  man  could  exist, 
and  the  rest  of  the  mess  would  have  roared  with  laughter 
and  called  him  a  crazy  sentimentalist.  But  none  of 
them  knew  the  truth,  and  he  had  lived  his  life  in  his 
own  way.  There  are  not  many  men  in  the  great  world 
like  Baldassare  del  Castiglione,  but  there  are  a  few; 
and  in  the  little  world,  in  simple  countries,  there  are 
more  of  them  than  the  great  world  ever  dreams  of. 

This  long  digression,  if  it  be  one,  is  to  explain  why 
Gastiglione  accepted  Maria's  strangely  exalted  plan  for 
the  future  of  both,  instead  of  telling  her  quite  frankly 
that  the  chances  in  favour  of  its  success  were  too  small 
for  poor  humanity  to  count  upon,  and  that  the  best 
way  was  to  part  again  and  to  meet  very  rarely  or  not 
at  all,  until  the  fire  of  life  should  be  extinguished  in  the 
grey  years,  and  they  could  look  at  each  other  without 
seeing  so  much  as  a  spark  of  it  left  in  each  other's  tired 


112  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  i 

eyes.  That  is  what  he  would  have  done,  as  a  man  of 
honour,  if  he  had  known  as  many  other  women  of  his 
own  class  intimately  as  some  of  his  comrades  did.  Or, 
if  he  had  been  like  them  in  other  things  too,  and  had 
loved  Maria  less  truly,  he  would  have  sat  down  to 
besiege  the  fortress  he  had  once  stormed,  and  would 
have  gone  to  work  scientifically  to  demolish  its  de 
fences,  making  pretence  of  accepting  the  trusting 
woman's  generous  offer  in  order  to  outwit  and  conquer 
her  by  slow  degrees.  And  if  he  had  done  either  the 
one  or  the  other,  that  is  to  say,  if  he  had  understood 
women's  ways,  this  would  either  have  been  the  story  of 
a  vulgar  fault,  or  it  would  have  ended  abruptly  with 
Castiglione's  departure. 

It  is  neither.  Baldassare  was  innocent  enough  as 
well  as  honourable  enough  to  believe  that  he  and  Maria 
could  keep  the  promise  they  had  made;  and  he  loved 
her  so  dearly  that  the  prospect  of  seeing  her  often  was 
like  a  vision  of  heaven  already  half  realised. 

So  on  that  day  they  began  the  new  life  together, 
trusting  that  they  could  live  it  faithfully  to  the  end, 
but  truly  resolved  to  part  again  for  ever  if  real  danger 
came  near  them. 

They  believed  in  themselves  and  in  each  other. 
Maria  had  faith  in  a  higher  power  from  wiiich  she  was 
to  receive  strength;  Castiglione  had  little  or  nothing 
of  this,  but  he  said  to  himself  plainly  that  if  he  broke 
his  word  he  would  die  for  it  on  the  same  da}'T,  and  he 
loved  mere  life  enough  to  think  the  forfeit  a  heavy  one. 

They  counted  upon  themselves  and  upon  each  other. 


CHAP.    VI 


MARIA  113 


There  was  nothing  to  suggest  that  quite  external  cir 
cumstances  might  influence  their  lives  to  make  the 
task  easier  or  more  difficult  than  they  anticipated. 
Most  certainly  neither  believed  that  there  could  be 
moments  ahead  which  would  be  harder  to  bear  than 
those  through  which  they  had  already  lived. 

When  Castiglione  went  away  that  afternoon  they 
had  agreed  that  he  should  come  again  on  the  next  clay 
but  one,  and  once  again  before  he  went  back  to  Milan, 
and  that  he  should  at  once  take  steps  to  exchange  into 
the  Piedmont  Lancers,  if  possible,  as  his  old  regiment 
was  likely  to  remain  in  Rome  fully  eighteen  months 
longer. 


18 


CHAPTER  VII 

IF  Giuliana  Parenzo  had  been  one  of  those  nervous, 
sensitive  women  who  are  always  thinking  about  them 
selves  and  fancying  that  their  friends  are  on  the  point 
of  betraying  them,  she  would  have  noticed  a  little 
change  in  Maria's  manner  after  Castiglione's  visit  to 
Rome.  It  was  not  that  Maria  was  at  all  less  fond  of 
her  than  before,  or  less  affectionate,  or  apparently  less 
glad  to  see  her.  It  was  much  more  subtle  than  that. 
There  is  a  great  difference  between  a  hungry  man  and  a 
man  who  merely  has  an  appetite.  The  one  must  have 
food,  the  other  is  only  pleased  to  have  it.  Giuliana's 
friendship  had  long  been  a  necessity  to  Maria,  but  it 
now  sank  to  the  condition  of  being  merely  an  added 
satisfaction  in  her  life.  Formerly  she  would  not  have 
given  it  up  for  anything  else ;  but  now,  if  she  could  have 
been  forced  to  choose  between  Castiglione  and  Giuliana, 
she  would  have  given  up  her  friend. 

The  Marchesa,  however,  was  not  a  sensitive  or  ner 
vous  woman,  and  she  noticed  nothing  of  the  change  that 
had  taken  place.  She  was  therefore  very  much  sur 
prised  when  her  husband  spoke  to  her  about  Maria. 
It  was  late  in  the  afternoon,  some  days  after  Castiglione 
had  gone  back  to  Milan,  and  Parenzo  had  come  home 
tired  from  the  Foreign  Office  and  was  smoking  in  his 

114 


CHAP.    VII 


MARIA  115 


wife's  dressing-room,  which  was  his  favourite  resort  at 
that  hour.  Like  many  busy  women,  Giuliana  had  her 
writing-table  there,  in  order  to  be  safe  from  interrup 
tion,  and  she  was  occupied  with  some  notes  which  had 
to  be  fininshed  before  dinner,  while  her  husband  sat  in 
a  low  straw  chair  watching  her,  and  devising  a  new 
costume  for  their  approaching  trip  to  England.  He 
had  always  considered  it  his  especial  mission  to  super 
intend  his  wife's  dress,  and  his  taste  was  admirable. 
He  was  a  small  wiry  man  with  a  neat  reddish  beard, 
not  much  hair  on  the  top  of  his  head,  and  a  single  eye 
glass.  But  he  had  an  energetic  nose  and  forehead, 
and  a  singularly  pleasant  smile. 

Giuliana  finished  one  of  her  notes  and  looked  up, 
and  instantly  the  smile  came  into  his  face,  for  he  was 
quite  as  much  in  love  with  her  as  when  he  had  married 
her.  She  looked  pleased,  and  nodded  to  him  before 
taking  another  sheet  of  paper. 

'I  wanted  to  ask  you  about  Maria  Montalto,'  he  said 
suddenly,  arresting  her  attention. 

Giuliana  looked  a  little  surprised,  and  laid  down  her 
pen. 

'Yes,  dear.     What  do  you  wish  to  know  about  her?' 

'You  are  just  as  intimate  with  her  as  ever,  are  you 
not?'  he  inquired. 

'Oh,  yes!  What  could  come  between  us?  Why  do 
you  ask?' 

'Because  if  you  are  as  good  friends  as  you  always 
used  to  be,  I  think  you  had  better  tell  her  that  people 
are  talking  about  her.  I  like  her,  too,  and  it  is  a  great 


116  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  i 

pity  that  anything  disagreeable  should  be  said,  espe 
cially  if  there  is  no  ground  for  it.' 

'I'm  sure  there  is  none/  said  Giuliana  promptly. 
'What  is  the  gossip  about  her?' 

'  That  she  is  seeing  too  much  of  Baldassare  del  Cas- 
tiglione.' 

'He  is  in  Milan,  my  dear.  How  can  she  see  much 
of  him  ?  What  nonsense !  Really,  Hondo,  you  should 
not  repeat  such  stuff  to  me  !  It's  too  absurd !' 

Parenzo's  first  name  was  Sigismondo,  of  which 
Mondo  is  the  diminutive.  He  shook  his  head  quietly 
at  his  wife's  rebuke. 

'I  know  he  is  in  Milan,'  he  answered.  'But  he  was 
here  for  a  fortnight  a  while  ago,  and  people  are  saying 
that  they  met  every  day.  When  he  did  not  go  to  see 
her  early  in  the  afternoon,  they  met  in  quiet  corners 
and  walked  together.' 

'I  suppose  that  by  "people"  you  mean  Teresa  Cres- 
cenzi,'  laughed  Giuliana.  'She  is  the  mother  of  all 
gossip,  you  know.' 

'It  was  de  Maurienne  who  told  me,'  rejoined  Sigis 
mondo. 

'That's  the  same  thing!'  Giuliana  laughed  again. 

'Oh,  is  it?     I  did  not  know.     You  don't  say  so !' 

Parenzo  seemed  amused  and  interested.  Monsieur 
de  Maurienne  was  a  second  secretary  of  the  French 
Embassy,  a  rich  man  with  artistic  tastes,  who  gave  out 
that  if  he  were  ordered  to  any  other  post  he  would  leave 
the  service  and  continue  to  live  in  Rome. 

'Teresa  means   to  marry  him,'   Giuliana  explained. 


c.iAi-.  vii  MARIA  117 

'I  daresay  she  will.  Of  course,  the  story  about  Maria 
conies  from  her.  There  is  not  a  word  of  truth  in  it. 
Castiglione  is  gone  to  Milan  and  may  not  come  back 
for  years.' 

'My  dear,  I'm  always  ready  to  take  your  opinion  in 
such    matters.     But    this    afternoon    Casalmaggiore  - 
you  know  who  I  mean?' 

'The  Colonel  of  Piedmont  Lancers?' 

'Yes.  He  dropped  in  to  see  me  at  the  Foreign  Office 
about  a  special  passport  for  a  friend  of  his,  and  he 
happened  to  say  that  Castiglione  had  asked  to  exchange 
back  into  his  old  regiment,  and  that  the  matter  would 
certainly  be  arranged,  as  every  one  liked  him  so  much. 
The  Colonel  was  very  curious  to  find  out  whether  there 
was  a  lady  in  the  case,  and  what  her  name  might  be. 
He  seems  to  have  plenty  of  curiosity,  Casalmaggiore ! 
I  said  I  knew  nothing  about  Castiglione's  love  affairs, 
and  I  did  not  refer  him  to  Teresa  Crescenzi,  for  he  was 
the  last  man  she  tried  to  marry  before  de  Maurienne ! 
That  was  all.' 

Giuliana  looked  at  her  husband  gravely. 

'I  did  not  know  that  Castiglione  wished  to  come  to 
Rome/  she  said.  'I  doubt  if  Maria  knows  it,  and  I'm 
almost  sure  she  will  not  be  pleased.' 

'I  should  not  think  she  would/  answered  Sigismondo 
Parenzo.  'And  I'm  quite  sure  that  she  won't  like  to 
have  her  name  coupled  with  his.  Go  on  with  your 
notes,  my  darling.  If  you  think  it  best  to  speak  to  her, 
do  so.  Whatever  you  do  will  be  right.' 

'I  hope  so,  dear/  answered  Giuliana  rather  vaguely. 


118  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  i 

Then  she  smiled  at  her  husband  again  and  went  on 
writing. 

Maria  was  very  far  from  guessing  that  she  was  already 
so  much  talked  of.  She  had  lived  so  long  in  the  pleasant 
security  of  a  half-retirement  from  the  world,  and  in  the 
halo  of  semi-martyrdom  created  by  Teresa  Crescenzi's 
original  story,  that  she  fancied  herself  unwatched  and 
her  behaviour  uncriticised.  She  would  certainly  never 
have  thought  of  connecting  any  change  in  Teresa's  dis 
position  towards  her  with  the  fact  that  they  had  met 
in  a  lonely  street  after  sunset,  both  wearing  veils  and 
telling  each  other  that  they  had  been  to  confession. 
She  had  not  even  taken  the  trouble  to  suspect  that 
Teresa  had  riot  told  the  truth;  still  less  had  she  guessed 
that  Teresa  was  just  then  at  a  critical  moment  of  her 
existence  and  was  playing  a  very  dangerous  game  in 
the  hope  of  marrying  Monsieur  de  Maurienne.  Maria 
did  not  even  know  where  he  lived ;  and  if  she  had  ever 
bestowed  a  thought  upon  that,  she  would  have  sup 
posed  that  he  had  rooms  in  the  Embassy  at  the  Palazzo 
Farnese. 

She  was  too  happy  nowT  to  think  about  indifferent 
people.  She  had  seen  Baldassare  twice  again  before 
he  had  left,  and  each  time  it  had  seemed  easier  and 
more  delightful  to  be  with  him.  He  had  behaved  per 
fectly,  and  had  shown  that  he  was  in  earnest  and  meant 
to  lead  the  ideal  life  of  innocent  and  loving  intercourse 
which  she  had  planned  for  herself  and  him.  Between 
their  meetings  she  had  written  him  long  and  eloquent 
letters,  breathing  peace,  and  hope,  and  an  undying 


CHAP.    VII 


MARIA  119 


love  in  a  sphere  far  beyond  this  daily,  earthly  life. 
He  had  answered  those  letters  by  shorter  ones  that 
echoed  them  and  promised  all  they  asked.  When  he 
had  come  again  he  had  stayed  over  an  hour;  when  he 
came  the  last  time  he  stayed  almost  all  the  afternoon, 
and  Maria  had  boldly  told  Agostino  that  she  was  not 
at  home  for  any  one  except  the  Marchesa  di  Parenzo. 
There  was  surely  no  harm  in  saying  this,  she  thought, 
although  she  knew  quite  well  that  Giu liana  and  her 
husband  were  gone  to  Viterbo  in  a  motor-car  and  would 
not  return  till  late  in  the  evening.  She  told  herself 
that  by  some  unforeseen  accident  they  might  come 
back  sooner,  and  that  Giuliana  might  appear  about 
tea-time;  and  that  it  was  therefore  quite  honest  and 
truthful  to  tell  Agostino  that  the  Marchesa  was  to  be 
admitted,  if  she  came,  well  knowing  that  the  chances 
were  about  ten  thousand  to  one  against  anything  so 
disagreeable.  The  improbable  had  happened  twice 
lately  —  Maria  had  chanced  to  meet  Castiglione  at 
Saint  Peter's,  and  Teresa  had  chanced  to  meet  him 
just  after  meeting  her.  Those  were  two  coincidences, 
both  of  which  had  produced  more  important  results 
than  might  have  been  anticipated ;  but  it  was  not  likely 
that  there  should  be  any  more  for  a  long  time. 

Giuliana  did  not  come  back  unexpectedly,  and  Maria 
and  Castiglione  were  alone  together  from  half-past  two 
till  nearly  six;  and  during  all  that  time  there  was  no 
approach  to  anything  which  might  have  disturbed  her 
certainty  that  they  were  both  sure  to  keep  the  promise 
they  had  made.  When  they  parted  she  laid  both  her 


120  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  i 

hands  on  his  and  looked  up  into  his  face  a  little  ex 
pectantly.  He  might  have  given  her  one  harmless 
kiss  when  he  went  away.  But  he  did  not.  He  shook 
his  head  and  smiled,  and  he  went  away. 

She  was  proud  of  him  then ;  she  was  also  a  very  little 
disappointed,  though  she  would  not  have  acknowledged 
it  for  worlds.  He  was  right,  of  course. 

When  he  had  left  Rome  she  made  an  examination  of 
her  conscience,  for  somehow  she  found  it  very  hard  to 
do  so  when  she  was  expecting  to  see  him  soon.  She 
was  alone  with  herself  now,  and  she  felt  strong  and 
satisfied  in  every  way,  except  that  she  longed  to  see 
him  again.  She  smiled  when  she  remembered  the  grim 
old  Capuchin's  words.  A  deadly  risk?  A  mortal  sin? 
YvThat  risk  had  she  run  with  such  a  man  as  Castiglione  ? 
What  mortal  sin  had  she  committed  ?  She  thought  of 
her  life  during  the  past  years  with  amazement  now. 
Why  had  she  suffered  so  much  and  so  uselessly  ?  Why 
had  she  never  told  herself  the  truth,  faced  it,  humbled 
herself  to  tell  it  to  him,  and  found  peace  in  all  those 
years?  There  had  been  a  few  hard  moments  when  she 
had  done  it  at  last,  it  was  true;  but  they  were  forgotten 
now. 

Yet  there  was  one  thing  she  must  do,  and  she  must  do 
it  at  once.  She  would  not  go  back  to  the  Capuchin, 
but  she  would  certainly  go  to  some  other  confessor, 
not  her  own,  and  make  sure  that  she  had  found  absolu 
tion,  not  for  what  she  had  clone  lately,  since  she  was 
absolutely  sure  that  she  had  done  right,  but  for  that 
long  unacknowledged  moment  of  weakness  years  ago. 


CHAP,  vii  MARIA  121 

No  priest  in  his  senses  could  refuse  her  absolution  for 
that. 

She  meant  to  be  as  careful  and  scrupulous  as  she  had 
ever  been  in  the  hardest  days;  but  it  was  not  easy  to 
feel  very  humble  and  repentant  just  when  she  was  so 
very  happy,  just  when  she  felt  that  the  new  life  was 
lifting  her  up,  together  with  the  man  she  loved  so  well. 

It  did  not  seem  wrong  either  to  go  to  a  confessor 
whose  name  she  knew,  and  who  had  the  reputation  of 
being  a  very  mild  man,  who  always  took  the  most 
gentle  and  charitable  point  of  view.  She  had  once 
heard  Giuliana  say  with  a  laugh  that  he  must  have 
listened  to  some  astounding  confessions  in  his  day, 
stories  that  would  make  one's  hair  stand  on  end,  be 
cause  he  was  such  a  mild  man,  and  so  charitable;  but 
even  Giuliana  admitted  that  he  was  as  good  as  he  was 
kind.  There  was  no  reason  why  Maria  should  not  go 
to  him. 

She  made  an  appointment  with  him  in  a  quiet  and 
remote  church ;  she  put  on  the  grey  veil  and  went  in  a 
cab  in  the  afternoon,  and  she  got  what  she  hoped  for. 
She  came  home,  and  Leone  was  waiting  for  her;  and 
when  she  turned  up  the  veil  and  kissed  him  there  was 
a  bright  smile  in  her  face. 

He  looked  at  her  critically  for  a  moment. 

'To-day  it  was  a  good  priest/  he  said,  in  a  satisfied 
tone.  'I  don't  hate  this  priest.  You  should  always 
go  to  this  one  ! ' 

'Perhaps  I  shall/  Maria  answered,  still  smiling. 

Early  next  morning  she  went  out  again,  and  knelt 


122  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  i 

at  the  altar  rail  of  the  little  new  oratory  that  stands 
in  a  side  street  not  far  from  where  she  lived,  and  a  young 
priest  with  a  martyr's  face  came  and  gave  her  the 
Sacrament;  and  all  was  still  and  peaceful  and  happy; 
and  she  came  home  after  her  meditation,  feeling  that 
everything  was  right  in  heaven  and  earth,  and  that 
there  could  be  no  more  sin  in  the  world,  and  she  would 
not  even  think  of  that  bitter  moment  a  week  ago  when 
she  had  bowed  her  head  upon  her  hands  and  had  cried 
out  bitterly  against  the  miserable  weakness  of  this 
dying  body. 

She  had  her  tea  and  toast  in  her  dressing-room,  and 
Leone  sat  at  the  same  little  table  and  had  his  breakfast 
with  her.  She  did  not  quite  dare  to  look  at  him  just 
then,  but  his  presence  somehow  made  her  almost  mad 
with  happiness.  She  felt  that  God  had  taken  awray 
the  reproach  at  last,  and  that  she  had  a  right  to  her  son. 

So  they  laughed  and  talked,  and  she  made  beautiful 
plans  for  days  in  the  country  together,  and  for  a  month 
at  Anzio  in  the  hot  weather,  or  even  two,  and  Leone 
was  to  learn  to  swim  and  was  to  go  out  sailing  with  her, 
and  they  were  to  be  just  'we  two/  But  were  there 
soldiers  at  Anzio?  Not  only  there  were  soldiers,  but 
there  was  a  firing  ground  for  big  guns,  with  butts,  and 
sometimes  one  heard  the  cannon  booming  all  the  morn 
ing,  arid  one  could  see  the  smoke  come  out  and  curl 
up  after  each  shot.  This  was  almost  too  much  for  the 
small  boy,  and  he  too  went  almost  mad  with  joy  and 
broke  out  with  the  brazen  voice  of  healthy  small-boy 
hood,  yelling  the  tune  of  the  royal  march  and  brandish- 


CHAP,  vii  MARIA  123 

ing  his  spoon  over  his  head  as  if  it  were  a  sabre  and  he 
were  leading  a  charge  of  cavalry. 

Then  Destiny  knocked  at  the  door. 

'Come  in/  said  Maria  Montalto  cheerfully. 

Agostino  brought  a  telegram,  and  she  took  it  eagerly 
from  the  salver  and  tore  it  open.  It  could  only  be 
from  Castiglione  —  the  news  that  he  had  got  his  ex 
change  into  his  old  regiment.  There  wras  no  one  else 
in  the  world  who  would  be  likely  to  telegraph  to  her. 
Then  she  read  the  printed  words. 

'My  mother  died  peacefully  last  night.  A  letter 
follows  to-day.  —  DIEGO.' 

Maria's  face  changed  suddenly,  and  grew  grave  and 
thoughtful.  Leone,  who  had  stopped  singing,  laid 
down  his  spoon  and  watched  her.  lie  did  not  think 
she  looked  as  if  anything  had  hurt  her  very  much,  but 
he  saw  that  something  serious  had  happened. 

She  read  the  telegram  over  again,  and  folded  it  before 
she  looked  up  at  him. 

'Your  grandmama  is  dead,  my  dear/  she  said  gently. 
'She  died  last  night.  You  never  saw  her,  but  you  will 
have  to  wear  black  for  a  little  while.' 

'Was  it  papa's  mother?'  asked  Leone. 

'Yes,  dear.     He  telegraphs  that  he  will  write  to-day. ? 

She  looked  out  at  some  green  trees  which  she  could 
just  see  through  the  open  window.  Leone  was  reflect 
ing  on  the  news. 

'Was  she  good  or  bad?'  he  asked  presently. 

Maria  looked  round  and  smiled  faintly  at  the  abrupt 
childish  question. 


124  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  i 

'She  was  a  good  woman,  darling.' 

'Is  papa  like  her?'  asked  the  boy. 

'Yes/  Maria  replied,  after  a  moment's  thought. 
'Yes,  he  is  like  his  mother,  I  think.  She  was  a  very 
grand  old  lady  with  dark  eyes  and  iron-grey  hair.' 

'Am  I  like  papa?'  inquired  Leone. 

'No,  dear.  You  are  not  like  him.'  Maria  rose  from 
the  table  rather  quickly. 

'Why  not,  mama?' 

'I  cannot  tell,'  answered  Maria  from  the  window,  and 
not  looking  round. 

'Because  most  of  the  boys  are,  you  know,'  continued 
Leone.  'There's  Mondo  Parenzo,  and  Mario  Campo- 
donico,  and  - 

She  could  have  screamed. 

Happily  Leone  remembered  no  more  striking  family 
likenesses  just  then,  and  presently  she  heard  him  get 
down  from  his  chair  and  go  off,  as  he  had  a  way  of  doing 
when  no  one  paid  attention  to  what  he  said.  It  was  also 
time  for  the  morning  inspection  of  his  weapons,  and 
he  had  lately  noticed  a  slight  tendency  to  rust  about 
the  breech  of  his  newest  tin  gun,  which  worked  just 
like  a  real  one,  and  made  nearly  as  much  noise. 

When  Maria  was  alone  she  recovered  herself  almost 
instantly,  and  when  her  maid  came  to  her  she  was 
quite  calm.  She  began  to  give  orders  about  mourning, 
for  in  Rome  that  matter  is  regulated  by  custom  with  the 
most  absolute  precision,  to  the  very  day,  and  not  to 
conform  to  the  rules  is  regarded  as  little  less  than  an 
insult  offered  to  the  family  of  the  relative  who  has  died. 


CHAP.    VII 


MARIA  125 


Montalto  had  a  good  many  more  or  less  distant  rela 
tions  in  Rome,  but  it  was  not  only  out  of  consideration 
for  them  that  Maria  went  into  mourning  on  that  very 
day  and  dressed  Leone  in  black  and  white ;  if  there  was 
one  being  in  the  world  whose  sorrow  she  was  bound  to 
respect  outwardly  as  well  as  in  every  other  way,  that 
man  was  her  husband. 

The  death  of  the  Dowager  Countess  of  Montalto  was 
in  itself  a  matter  of  indifference  to  her ;  she  was  much 
more  affected  by  the  announcement  that  a  letter  from 
Montalto  himself  would  soon  be  on  its  way  to  her,  and 
by  the  fact  that  she  would  have  to  answer  it.  Years 
had  elapsed  since  the  two  had  written  to  each  other, 
and  the  moment  of  her  final  reconciliation  with  Cas- 
tiglione  and  with  her  conscience  was  not  the  one  she 
would  have  chosen  for  renewing  her  correspondence 
with  the  husband  she  had  injured. 

Meanwhile  she  telegraphed  a  short  and  formal  mes 
sage  expressing  her  profound  sympathy  for  his  bereave 
ment.  More  than  this  she  could  not  do. 

She  wrote  to  Castiglione  later  in  the  morning,  for 
they  had  agreed  that  they  would  write  very  often, 
and  she  interpreted  this  to  mean  every  day.  But 
writing  was  very  unsatisfactory  now,  and  she  felt  a 
mad  desire  to  see  him  and  hear  his  voice.  It  wras  not 
that  she  had  any  great  trouble  to  tell  him,  and  when 
she  had  written  down  the  news  of  the  Countess's  death 
it  seemed  a  very  small  matter  compared  with  what 
filled  her  heart  to  overflowing.  She  poured  out  her 
love  in  words  she  would  hardly  have  spoken  if  he  had 


126  A    LADY    OF    ROMP]  PART  i 

been  beside  her,  lest  the  great  promise  should  be  en 
dangered.  She  told  him  truly  that  he  was  the  light 
of  her  life  and  the  glory  of  her  heart,  and  that  no  woman 
had  ever  loved  him  as  she  loved  him;  and  this  indeed 
was  true,  and  she  knew  it.  She  called  him  heart  of  her 
heart  and  soul  of  her  soul,  she  blessed  him,  she  prayed 
for  him,  she  bade  him  believe  as  she  believed,  lest 
death  should  part  for  ever  what  Heaven  had  at  last 
made  one.  She  wrote  long  and  eloquently,  she  pressed 
innocently  passionate  kisses  upon  the  last  words,  and 
she  sent  the  letter  on  its  way  without  reading  it  over. 

She  busied  herself  in  all  sorts  of  ways  that  day;  she 
could  not  find  enough  to  do,  enough  to  plan,  enough  to 
occupy  her  thoughts ;  and  though  she  did  all  cheerfully, 
telling  herself  that  she  was  as  happy  as  she  had  been 
in  the  early  morning,  there  was  something  that  hurt  her, 
somewhere  in  her  heart. 

Giuliana  came  to  dine  alone  with  her  that  evening. 
Afterwards  they  sat  together  a  long  time,  talking  of 
many  things  not  especially  important.  Then  Maria 
spoke  at  last. 

'  Giuliana,  tell  me  something.  Do  you  think  Leone 
is  like  his  father?' 

Her  friend  looked  at  her  steadily  for  three  or  four 
seconds  before  she  answered. 

'Yes,  dear.     He  is  very  like  him  already.' 

Maria  bent  her  head  and  looked  at  her  hands  before 
she  answered. 

'I  think  so,  too/  she  said.  'Thank  you  for  telling 
me  frankly.' 


CHAP,  vir  MARIA  127 

Giuliana  saw  that  the  moment  was  favourable  for 
saying  more,  and  after  a  little  pause  she  leant  forward 
in  her  chair,  with  her  elbows  on  her  knees  and  her  chin 
resting  on  her  joined  fingers.  Maria  knew  that  some 
thing  important  was  coming. 

'What  is  it?'   she  asked. 

'Teresa  has  been  talking  about  you  again,  dear/ 
said  Giuliana. 

'Has  she  invented  a  new  story?' 

'Yes.  She  is  telling  every  one  that  you  have  been 
seeing  a  great  deal  of  Balduccio.' 

Maria  bent  her  smooth  brows  a  little,  and  asked  to 
be  told  more  precisely  what  Teresa  had  said.  Giuliana 
repeated  to  her  what  Parenzo  had  told  her,  and  Maria 
listened  in  silence.  The  Marchesa  concluded  by  saying 
that  whether  it  were  true  or  not  that  Castiglione  was 
coming  back  to  Rome,  Maria  ought  to  know  what  the 
Colonel  had  said  about  it.  Maria  nodded  thoughtfully 
and  still  looked  down. 

'That  much  is  true,'  she  said  at  last.  'He  is  coming 
back,  if  he  can  exchange.  But  the  rest,  about  our 
meeting  in  quiet  streets  —  that  is  pure  invention.' 

Giuliana  looked  grave.  She  had  known  something 
of  the  truth  during  all  these  years,  and  she  had  under 
stood  her  friend,  as  she  thought,  and  had  silently  sym 
pathised  with  her  steady  effort  to  atone  for  her  fault. 
Very  good  women  generally  draw  a  sharp  dividing  line 
in  such  cases.  Giuliana  had  always  been  sorry  for 
Maria  and  had  helped  her  in  many  ways,  without  ask 
ing  any  confidences,  to  recover  her  self-respect  and  the 


128  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  i 

relative  esteem  of  the  people  amongst  whom  she  lived. 
But  the  idea  that  Maria  should  ever  again,  under  any 
imaginable  circumstances,  meet  and  talk  with  Cas- 
tiglione,  even  in  the  most  innocent  way,  was  revolting 
to  Giuliana,  and  it  was  long  since  she  had  received  such 
a  shock  as  disturbed  her  equanimity  when  Maria  ad 
mitted  the  truth  of  what  the  Duca  di  Casalmaggiore 
had  told  Parenzo.  Her  face  changed  instantly,  she 
leaned  back  again  in  her  chair,  folded  her  arms,  and 
looked  at  the  mantelpiece.  Altogether  she  assumed 
an  attitude  of  resistance,  and  Maria  understood  that 
she  was  displeased. 

'You  think  I  am  wrong  to  let  him  come  back,  don't 
you?'  Maria  asked,  rather  timidly. 

'Yes,'  Giuliana  answered  without  the  least  hesita 
tion,  'I  do.' 

'I  will  try  and  tell  you  what  I  feel  and  what  I  hope,' 
Maria  said.  'You  will  understand  me  then,  I'm  sure. 
You  will  think  I  may  be  right.' 

'I  doubt  it,'  replied  the  Marchesa,  but  her  crossed 
arms  relaxed  a  little,  and  she  settled  herself  to  listen 
to  her  friend's  story. 

Maria  spoke  quietly  at  first.  She  did  not  mean  to 
tell  all  when  she  began,  but  by  degrees  she  felt  that 
nothing  less  than  the  whole  truth  could  justify  her  in 
her  friend's  eyes.  She  talked  on  nervously  then,  some 
times  in  a  tone  of  passionate  regret,  sometimes  in  a 
strain  of  exaltation;  she  spoke  very  truthfully  of  facts, 
she  even  told  of  her  interview  with  Monsignor  Sara- 
cinesca  and  of  her  confession  to  Padre  Bonaventura, 


CHAP,  vii  MARIA  129 

the  Capuchin  monk,  and  all  this  was  clear  enough.  It 
was  when  she  gave  the  rein  to  her  imagination  and  de 
scribed  the  ideal  life  of  innocent  love  and  trustfulness 
which  she  hoped  to  lead  with  Baldassare  that  Giu liana 
stopped  her  abruptly. 

'It  is  not  possible/  said  the  Marchesa.  'You  should 
not  think  of  such  things.  One  can  forgive  a  single  fault 
in  those  one  is  very  fond  of,  but  to  forgive  another  is 
quite  a  different  matter!' 

'There  is  no  danger/  Maria  answered  confidently. 
'But  as  for  forgiving,  the  Bible  says  something  about 
seventy  times  seven!'  she  smiled. 

'My  dear/  rejoined  Giuliana,  with  the  unconscious 
humour  of  a  virtue  beyond  all  attack,  'seventy  times 
seven  would  be  a  great  many,  in  practice.  Besides, 
there  is  danger,  I  am  sure.  A  woman  capable  of  rising 
to  the  moral  height  you  talk  of  must  certainly  feel 
an  insurmountable  horror  of  seeing  the  other  man  as 
long  as  her  husband  is  alive.  If  she  can  forgive  her 
self  and  him,  she  has  not  a  very  delicate  conscience,  it 
seems  to  me !  She  might  possibly  see  him  once,  but 
after  that  she  would  beg  him  to  stay  away,  out  of 
respect  for  her  absent  husband,  against  whom  any  more 
meetings  would  be  an  offence.  And  besides,  every  one 
knowrs  that  there  is  nothing  more  absolutely  false,  and 
ridiculous,  and  impossible  than  a  friendship  based  on 
love !  I'm  sorry  if  you  do  not  like  what  I  say,  Maria, 
but  I  tell  you  just  what  I  think !' 

'  You  do,  indeed !'  answered  the  younger  woman,  in  a 
hurt  tone. 


130  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PAKT  i 

'I  cannot  help  it,'  said  Giuliana.  'You  have  told  me 
some  things  about  yourself  this  evening  which  I  never 
dreamt  of,  but  nothing  you  have  told  me  has  had  any 
effect  on  what  I  thought  from  the  first.  You  are 
doing  very  wrong  in  letting  Castiglione  come  back. 
You  ought  never  to  see  him  while  your  husband  is 
alive.  That  is  what  I  think,  and  I  shall  never  say  it 
again,  for  it  is  of  no  use  to  give  the  same  advice  more 
than  once/ 

Giuliana  rose  to  go  home,  for  it  was  half-past  ten. 
Her  face  was  grave  and  calm,  and  a  little  severe.  Maria 
rose  too,  feeling  as  if  a  conflict  had  begun  which  must  in 
the  end  force  her  to  give  up  either  Giuliana  or  Castiglione. 

1  Giuliana/  she  said  sadly,  'you  will  not  throw  over 
our  friendship  because  you  do  not  approve  of  every 
thing  I  do,  will  you  ? ' 

Giuliana  faced  her  and  held  out  her  hand  frankly. 

'No/  she  answered.  'I'm  not  that  sort  of  friend. 
But  if  I  see  you  are  going  wrong  I  shall  try  to  save  you 
in  spite  of  yourself.' 

'Thank  you,  dear/  said  Maria,  trying  to  feel  grateful; 
'but  I  shall  not  go  wrong.  You  don't  quite  understand 
me  —  that's  all.' 

'I  hope  yra  are  right/  replied  Giuliana,  'but  I  be 
lieve  you  are  quite  mistaken.' 

They  did  not  part  very  cordially,  and  when  Giuliana 
was  alone  in  her  carriage  she  almost  made  up  her  mind 
to  save  her  friend  by  force.  She  thought  of  writing  to 
Castiglione  himself,  to  tell  him  frankly  that  it  was  his 
duty  as  a  man  of  honour  to  stay  away.  He  might 


CHAP.    VII 


MARIA  131 


possibly  have  accepted  the  warning  if  she  had  carried 
out  her  intention,  but  she  soon  saw  many  reasons  for 
not  interfering  so  directly. 

'Beware  of  first  impulses/  says  the  cynic,  'for  they 
are  generally  good  ones.' 


CHAPTER   VIII 

Two  days  later  Maria  received  a  letter  from  Castiglione 
saying  that  his  return  was  now  a  matter  of  certainty, 
but  that  there  were  formalities  to  be  fulfilled  which 
would  take  some  little  time.  Most  fortunately  there 
was  a  step  in  the  regiment.  The  crabbed  old  major  of 
the  Piedmont  Lancers  was  promoted  to  be  lieutenant- 
colonel  of  another  regiment,  the  senior  captain  was 
gazetted  major,  and  Castiglione  himself  would  come 
back  as  the  junior  captain,  probably  during  the  next 
month. 

Maria's  heart  beat  fast,  and  she  smiled  as  she  thought 
of  Giuliana's  expressed  determination  to  'save  her  in 
spite  of  herself.'  It  was  morning,  and  she  went  out 
alone  for  a  walk.  It  was  good  to  live  to-day,  and  to 
move  swiftly  through  the  bright  spring  air  was  to  be 
twice  alive.  She  went  by  the  cross  streets  to  the  Via 
del  Veneto  and  through  the  Porta  Pinciana  to  the  Villa 
Borghese.  She  skirted  the  racecourse  below  the  Dairy, 
and  stood  still  a  moment  to  watch  the  riders  go  by. 
Not  far  from  her  she  saw  Angelica  Campodonico  and 
her  young  brother  Mario  riding  on  each  side  of  their 
teacher.  The  slim  young  girl  sat  straight  and  square 
and  was  enjoying  herself,  but  the  boy  grabbed  the 
pommel  of  his  saddle  whenever  the  riding-master  looked 

132 


CHAP.    VIII 


MARIA  133 


away,  and  seemed  to  stick  on  by  his  heels.  He  was 
the  boy  whom  Leone  had  'hammered/  as  he  expressed 
it,  and  Maria  smiled  as  she  thought  of  her  own  little 
son's  sturdy  back  and  small,  hard  fists. 

Presently  a  young  lieutenant  of  the  Piedmont  Lancers 
cantered  up  on  a  beautiful  English  mare.  He  rode 
very  well,  as  many  Italian  officers  now  do,  and  he  was 
evidently  aware  of  it.  The  familiar  uniform  fascinated 
Maria,  and  her  eyes  lingered  on  it  as  the  young  man 
rode  past  her.  He  saw  that  she  was  a  woman  of  the 
world,  and  that  she  was  still  young  and  pretty;  and 
in  spite  of  the  deep  black  she  wore,  it  at  once  occurred 
to  him  that  this  was  the  best  place  in  the  wide  ring  for 
jumping  his  mare  in  and  out  of  the  meadow  over  the 
rather  stiff  fence.  Still  Maria  watched  him,  and  he 
might  not  have  been  so  pleased  with  himself  if  he  could 
have  guessed  that  she  wras  thinking  of  another  officer 
who  was  an  even  better  rider  than  he,  but  who  would 
certainly  not  have  cared  to  show  off  before  a  pretty 
lady  whom  he  did  not  know.  And  Maria  knew  that 
before  long  Baldassare  del  Castiglione  would  sometimes 
come  and  exercise  his  horses  in  the  same  place,  and 
that  she  would  very  probably  happen  to  be  walking 
that  way  and  would  see  him.  And  he  would  stop  and 
salute  her,  and  draw  up  by  the  outer  fence  and  shake 
hands  with  her  and  exchange  a  few  words ;  and  his  eyes 
would  be  as  blue  as  sapphires,  and  she  would  be  the 
proudest  woman  in  the  world,  almost  without  knowing 
it.  So  she  unconsciously  smiled  at  the  young  lieu 
tenant  and  turned  away. 


134  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  i 

She  walked  on,  and  before  long  she  was  sitting  under 
the  ilex-trees  above  the  Piazza  di  Siena.  There  was  a 
new  bench  there;  or  perhaps  it  had  only  been  painted. 
There  was  water  in  the  fountain,  leaping  up  and  spar 
kling  under  the  deep  green  trees.  The  basin  had  been 
dry  on  that  winter's  afternoon  long  ago,  and  the  ever 
green  oaks  had  looked  much  darker.  That  had  been 
like  death;  this  was  life  itself.  The  past  did  not  exist; 
it  had  never  existed  at  all,  because  it  had  all  been  a 
horrible  mistake,  an  untruth,  and  a  loathsome  sin; 
a  sin  confessed  now,  an  untruth  forgiven,  a  mistake 
explained  and  condoned.  In  the  future  all  was  love; 
and  yet  all  was  right  and  truthful  and  straightforward, 
as  justice  itself.  Giuliana's  warning  was  but  the  well- 
meant  preaching  of  a  good  friend  who  could  never 
understand;  the  grim  old  monk's  words  were  far  away. 
Where  was  the  deadly  risk,  or  the  mortal  sin?  God 
was  strong  and  good,  and  would  make  all  good  deeds 
seem  easy;  and  she  and  the  man  she  loved  would  rise 
far  beyond  this  dying  body,  by  that  good,  to  be  united 
for  ever  in  light  and  peace.  Baldassare  would  believe, 
as  she  did,  and  in  the  end  they  would  find  heaven  to 
gether. 

She  leaned  back,  and  her  eyes  looked  upwards  as 
she  sat  there  alone,  and  in  all  her  being  there  was  not 
the  least  thought  that  was  not  innocent  and  pure  and 
beautiful.  She  communed  with  herself  as  with  an 
angel,  and  with  the  image  of  the  man  she  loved  as  with 
a  saint.  She  felt  as  she  felt  sometimes  when  she  knelt 
at  early  morning  before  the  altar  rail  of  the  little  oratory 


CHAP.    VIII 


MARIA  135 


near  her  house,  and  the  young  priest  with  his  martyr's 
face  came  softly  down  and  ministered  to  her. 

She  almost  trembled  when  she  rose  at  last  to  leave 
the  place  where  she  had  been  lifted  up  from  the  world, 
the  place  where  she  had  once  spoken  such  bitter  and 
cruel  words  to  him  who  was  now  once  more  the  heart 
of  her  heart  and  the  soul  of  her  soul.  She  walked 
homewards  in  a  deep,  sweet  dream  of  refreshment. 

The  footman  opened  the  door,  and  as  she  entered 
the  small  bright  hall  she  saw  a  big  letter  with  a  black 
border  and  Spanish  stamps  lying  upon  some  others,  and 
she  knew  Montalto's  large,  stiff  handwriting.  Her  heart 
sank,  though  she  had  expected  the  letter  for  two  days. 

She  took  it  with  no  outward  show  of  emotion,  for  she 
felt  that  the  servant  was  watching  and  that  he  guessed 
whence  it  came.  In  a  steady  voice  she  asked  if  Leone 
had  come  in  from  his  walk  with  old  Agostino,  and  the 
footman  told  her  they  were  still  out.  Her  Excellency 
would  remember  that  the  Signorino  was  gone  to  the 
gardens  of  the  Palazzo  Trasmondo  to  play  with  his 
little  friends. 

Maria  went  to  her  sitting-room  without  calling  her 
maid,  and  sat  down  to  read  her  husband's  letter  with 
closed  doors.  She  felt  strong  and  brave,  and  resolved 
to  think  of  the  absent  man  with  all  the  respect  Giuliana 
Parenzo  could  have  exacted  from  her. 

It  was  a  very  long  letter,  filling  several  big  black- 
edged  sheets;  but  the  handwriting  was  large  and  stiff, 
and  easy  to  read,  and  at  first  her  eyes  followed  the 
words  quickly  and  unhesitatingly. 


136  A    LADY    OF    ROME 


PART  I 


Montalto  was  deeply  affected  by  his  mother's  death; 
that  was  evident  in  the  short,  strained  sentences  that 
were  painfully  formal  save  for  a  heart-broken  word  here 
and  there.  Conscientiously  he  told  his  wife  the  short 
story  of  the  illness  during  the  last  days,  the  last  hours, 
at  the  last  minute,  at  the  end.  She  read  with  a  sort  of 
reverence,  but  she  wondered  why  he  gave  her  every 
detail.  Had  he  come  to  her  for  sympathy,  after  all  the 
stem  and  unforgiving  years  that  had  passed? 

Then  she  took  the  next  sheet,  and  the  truth  broke 
upon  her.  So  far,  he  had  given  her  an  account  of  what 
had  happened,  of  how  his  mother  had  suddenly  begun 
to  sink  and  had  died  peacefully  after  receiving  all  the 
Sacraments.  But  he  had  not  told  what  her  last  words 
had  been. 

'My  dear  son/  she  had  said  just  before  she  had  closed 
her  eyes  for  ever,  '  I  have  been  very  unforgiving  towards 
your  wife.  Perhaps  I  have  helped  to  make  you  so. 
Promise  me  that  you  will  go  to  her  and  ask  her  pardon 
for  me.  And  be  reconciled  with  her,  if  God  wills  that 
it  be  possible.' 

She  had  said  all  these  words  with  great  distinctness, 
for  she  had  been  calm  and  fully  conscious,  and  able  to 
speak  until  the  last  moment  of  her  life;  and  then  her 
heart  had  stopped  beating  and  death  had  come  quietly, 

Maria  held  the  sheet  before  her  with  both  her  hands, 
trying  to  go  on,  and  determined  to  read  bravely  to  the 
end,  but  it  was  a  long  time  before  she  got  to  the  next 
words,  and  she  felt  as  if  she  had  been  unexpectedly 
condemned  to  die. 


CHAP.    VIII 


MARIA  137 


The  man  she  had  injured  meant  to  fulfil  his  mother's 
last  request  to  the  letter.  For  he  asked  his  erring 
wife's  pardon  for  the  dead  woman  who  had  not  been 
able  to  forgive  her  till  the  end.  He  asked  her  to  write 
out  the  message  to  the  dead  and  send  it  to  him. 

That  would  be  the  easiest  part.  How  could  Maria 
find  it  hard  to  say  that  she  forgave  what  she  had  de 
served?  But  the  rest  was  different. 

He  went  on  to  say  that  it  was  not  only  for  his  mother's 
sake  that  he  wished  to  be  reconciled:  it  was  for  his 
own.  In  spite  of  all,  he  loved  Maria  dearly.  He  had 
known  how  she  had  lived,  how  her  whole  life  since  he 
had  finally  left  her  had  been  an  atonement  for  one  fault; 
and  that  one  fault  he  now  freely  forgave  her.  He 
would  never  speak  of  it  again,  he  said,  for  he  was  sure 
that  she  had  suffered  more  from  it  than  he  himself. 

She  guessed,  as  she  read,  what  it  must  have  cost  him 
to  say  that  much.  He  earnestly  desired  a  reconcilia 
tion.  He  wished  to  come  back  to  Rome  to  live  in  his 
own  house,  with  his  wife,  before  all  the  world.  With  a 
pathetic  inability  to  put  his  feelings  into  words,  he  said 
that  he  would  try  to  make  her  happy  'by  all  means 
acceptable  to  her.'  Yet  he  did  not  wish  to  force  this 
reconciliation  upon  her,  for  he  was  well  aware  that  in 
leaving  her  he  had  conferred  on  her  a  measure  of  in 
dependence  and  had  given  her  good  reason  to  suppose 
that  he  would  never  come  back.  Unless  she  willingly 
agreed  to  what  he  now  offered,  he  would  never  come  back 
to  Rome;  for  it  had.  been  one  thing  to  stay  with  his 
invalid  mother,  leaving  his  wife  to  live  where  she 


138  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  i 

pleased,  but  it  would  be  quite  another  in  the  eyes  of 
the  world  if  he  returned  to  his  own  house  and  his  wife 
continued  to  stay  in  a  hired  house.  Hitherto  there 
had  been  no  scandal  which  his  authority  could  not  now 
put  down,  no  open  break  which  might  not  still  be  re 
paired  with  dignity.  Then,  on  a  sudden,  the  writing 
became  less  stiff  and  clear,  and  the  lonely  man's  full 
heart  overflowed.  He  loved  her  so  dearly  —  he  did  not 
repeat  '  in  spite  of  all '  -  why  might  he  not  hope  to 
make  her  happy  at  last  ?  In  the  past  he  had  not  known 
how  to  show  her  how  tenderly,  how  devotedly,  he  had 
loved  her;  lie  had  been  but  a  dull  companion  for  her; 
she  had  been  made  to  marry  him  almost  against  her 
will.  Without  again  speaking  of  her  fault  he  was 
finding  excuses  for  what  he  had  forgiven.  And  the 
burden  came  back  again  and  again,  he  loved  her  with 
all  his  heart.  It  was  no  mere  empty  show  of  recon 
ciliation  that  he  offered  her,  for  the  sake  of  his  name, 
for  what  the  world  might  say  or  think.  He  wished, 
he  asked  to  be  allowed,  to  take  her  back  altogether, 
wholly,  as  if  there  had  been  no  division. 

Maria  held  the  sheet  tight  between  her  upraised 
hands,  but  a  painful  tremor  ran  through  her  to  the  tips 
of  her  fingers,  and  the  paper  shook  before  her  eyes. 

She  had  reached  the  end  now.  He  had  poured  out 
his  soul  as  he  had  never  done  before  then  to  any  living 
being;  but  quite  at  the  last  line  his  natural  formality 
returned,  he  'begged  the  favour  of  a  speedy  reply  at 
her  convenience/  and  he  signed  his  name  in  full  - 
'Diego  Silani  di  Montalto.' 


MARIA 


139 


After  a  long  time  Maria  rose  from  her  seat,  and  her 
face  was  almost  grey.  She  went  to  her  writing-table 
and  opened  a  small  desk  with  a  simple  little  gold  key 
she  wore  on  her  watch  chain.  The  receptacle  was  al 
ready  half  full  of  Castiglione's  letters,  and  she  laid  her 
husband's  on  top  of  the  heap,  shut  down  the  lid,  and 
turned  the  key  again. 

Just  then  Leone  burst  into  the  room,  lusty  and 
radiant,  He  stopped  short  when  he  saw  his  mother's 
face. 

'You  have  been  to  see  the  bad  priest  again!'  he 
cried  angrily. 

'No,  dear,  I  shall  not  go  to  see  him  again.  I  have 
had  a  great  —  a  great  surprise.  Papa  is  coming  back 
soon.' 


CHAPTER  IX 

MARIA  did  not  hesitate,  though  she  felt  as  if  her  heart 
must  break  with  every  throbbing  beat.  Whether 
Giuliana  Parenzo  was  just  or  not  in  telling  her  that 
she  had  not  a  very  delicate  conscience,  she  had  at  least 
a  strong  will  and  a  lasting  determination  to  do  what 
she  thought  right,  which  more  than  made  up  for  the 
absence  of  that  sensitiveness  on  which  her  happier 
friend  laid  so  much  stress. 

Until  Leone  asked  her  what  was  the  matter,  her 
thoughts  whirled  in  a  chaos  of  pain  and  darkness,  but 
there  was  little  or  no  hesitation  in  her  answer  to  his 
question.  She  wished  with  all  her  heart  that  she  had 
put  him  off  until  there  had  been  nothing  in  her  face  to 
betray  her,  and  that  he  might  never  have  connected 
her  too  evident  distress  with  the  news  she  had  just 
received.  But  she  had  spoken  because  her  mind  was 
made  up  in  that  moment,  and  her  determination  found 
words  at  once;  and  the  child  at  once  hated  the  man 
who  was  coming  back. 

She  was  going  to  accept  the  proffered  reconciliation 
outright,  if  it  killed  her,  and  she  really  believed  that  it 
might.  Her  dream  of  light  and  peace  ended  then; 
she  had  atoned,  perhaps,  but  that  was  not  enough. 
Atonement  means  reconciling,  and  such  a  reconciling 

140 


CHAI>.  ix  MARIA  141 

meant  to  Maria  an  expiation  more  dreadful  than  she 
had  dreamed  of.  She  remembered  only  too  vividly 
the  material  repulsion  for  Montalto  that  had  grown 
upon  her  quickly  in  the  first  months  of  their  life  together, 
and  she  knew  that  it  would  be  stronger  now  than  it  had 
been  then.  Yet  she  must  live  through  it  and  hide  it. 
To  her  it  seemed  inconceivable  that  he  should  wish  to 
come  back  to  her  at  all.  The  nobler  sort  of  women  can 
never  understand  that  men  they  dislike  can  love  them, 
and  to  be  given  in  marriage  to  one  of  them  is  a  torment 
and  feels  like  an  outrage. 

Maria  meant  to  bear  it  all  as  well  as  she  could.  A 
woman  able  to  dream  of  such  a  lofty  and  spiritual  love 
as  had  appeared  possible  to  her  in  a  short  and  unfor 
gettable  vision  wras  not  one  to  hesitate  at  a  sacrifice, 
much  less  if  justice  demanded  it.  In  old  Jerusalem 
would  she  not  have  been  stoned  to  death?  Yet  that 
would  have  been  the  quick  end  of  all  suffering,  whereas 
Montalto's  return  was  only  the  beginning  of  something 
much  worse. 

It  is  often  easier  to  forgive  than  to  accept  forgiveness. 
After  Maria  had  read  her  husband's  letter  there  were 
times  when  she  wished  that  all  his  love  for  her  could 
be  turned  into  hatred,  tie  might  come  back  then,  to 
show  the  world  a  comedy  of  a  reconciliation,  though  he 
might  frankly  detest  the  sight  of  her;  he  might  come 
back  and  behave  to  her  as  he  had  after  she  had  admitted 
her  guilt,  and  never  speak  to  her  except  from  necessity, 
while  treating  her  always  with  that  same  formal  courtesy 
he  had  learned  from  his  Spanish  mother.  It  would 


142  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  I 

have  been  easy  to  bear  that;  it  would  have  been  far 
easier  then  to  live  without  seeing  the  man  of  her  heart, 
But  to  be  taken  back  to  be  loved,  to  be  cherished  and 
caressed,  to  be  the  instrument  of  happiness  in  the  life 
of  the  husband  she  had  dishonoured,  and  whose  mere 
presence  and  slightest  touch  made  her  writhe  —  that 
was  going  to  be  hard  indeed.  Yet  she  meant  to  bear 
it,  In  her  simple  faith  she  prayed  only  that  it  might 
be  counted  to  her  hereafter  as  a  part  of  her  purgatory. 

Castiglione  received  her  letter  telling  him  all  the 
truth  and  bidding  him  stay  where  he  was,  if  he  could, 
or  at  least  not  try  to  see  her  if  he  were  obliged  to  come 
to  Rome.  His  first  impulse  was  to  ask  for  leave  again, 
if  only  for  three  days,  and  to  go  to  her  at  once  to  im 
plore  her  to  refuse  Montalto's  offer,  to  risk  anything 
rather  than  let  her  accept  an  existence  which  he  knew 
would  be  one  of  misery.  He  felt  and  believed  that  it 
would  kill  her. 

In  some  ways  the  thought  of  it  was  even  more  revolt 
ing  to  him  than  to  her.  He  had  been  faithful  for  years 
to  the  memory  of  the  love  which  he  believed  he  had 
destroyed  in  her;  but  now  that  all  was  changed,  now 
that  he  knew  how  she  loved  him,  she  was  his,  his  very 
own,  far  more  than  she  had  ever  been.  He  felt,  too, 
that  she  had  really  raised  him  above  his  old  self;  that 
he  could  really  live  near  her,  see  her,  talk  with  her,  and 
touch  her  hand,  and  love  her  as  he  had  promised,  with 
no  shame,  or  thought  of  shame,  to  her  or  to  himself. 
Long  years  of  clean  living  had  already  made  him  dif 
ferent  from  his  comrades,  and  his  unchanging  will 


MARIA  143 

made  a  law  for  himself  which  he  had  never  transgressed. 
Does  the  world  think  that  beyond  the  pale  of  holy 
orders,  of  whatsoever  persuasion,  there  are  no  men 
who  live  as  he  did,  faithful  and  true  to  one  dear  memory 
to  the  very  end?  Sometimes  what  we  call  the  world 
seems  to  know  more  of  its  patent  evil  than  of  its  own 
hidden  good.  And  where  the  good  is  strong  and  rules 
a  man's  secret  life,  it  may  lead  him  far. 

But  Castiglione  was  only  human,  and  his  jealousy 
of  Montalto  was  cruel  when  it  woke  again.  It  had 
been  great  in  old  days,  but  it  was  ten  times  more  dan 
gerous  now,  for  it  had  been  long  asleep  in  security  and 
it  awoke  in  anger.  Maria  had  not  been  his  own,  but 
throughout  that  time  no  other  man  had  called  her  his, 
and  now  Montalto  claimed  her,  under  his  right  to  for 
give  an  injury  if  he  chose,  and  she  was  going  to  submit 
and  surrender  herself. 

He  wrote  her  a  passionate  letter,  imploring  her  not 
to  ruin  both  their  lives  by  giving  herself  back  to  her 
husband,  and  beseeching  her  to  see  him  at  once  that 
he  might  tell  her  all  he  could  not  write.  If  he  could 
not  get  leave  again  so  soon  he  would  come  without,  if 
it  cost  him  a  long  arrest.  Maria  was  to  telegraph  her 
answer,  and  if  no  message  came  within  two  days  he 
would  start,  whatever  happened.  As  for  declining  the 
exchange  he  had  asked,  he  could  not  do  that ;  he  would 
be  ordered  to  join  his  old  regiment  in  Rome  during  the 
next  ten  days  at  the  latest,  and  it  was  impossible  that 
he  should  not  meet  her  sometimes. 

For  a  moment  Maria  hesitated,  for  she  felt  that  he 


144  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  i 

was  desperate,  and  she  herself  was  not  far  from  despair. 
But  something  human  on  which  she  had  never  counted 
helped  her  a  little.  If  Castiglione  came  suddenly  to 
Home,  it  would  be  known,  and  it  would  surely  be  said 
that  he  had  come  to  see  her;  if  no  one  else  knew  it, 
Teresa  Crescenzi  surely  would,  and  would  tell  every 
one.  She  thought  of  Montalto's  letter,  telling  her  that 
he  had  known  of  her  quiet  life,  and  that  the  dignity  she 
had  shown  had  appealed  to  him.  He  should  not  come 
back  now  to  be  told  that  he  had  been  deceived,  and 
that  Castiglione  made  long  journeys  expressly  to  see 
her.  Her  pride  would  not  suffer  that. 

She  went  out  on  foot  and  entered  the  small  telegraph 
office  outside  the  railway  station,  for  she  could  not 
have  sent  her  message  by  a  servant's  hand.  She  took 
the  ink-crusted  pen  and  a  flimsy  blank  form,  and 
thought  of  what  she  should  say.  The  shabby  young 
clerk  at  the  little  sliding  window  would  have  to  read 
the  telegram,  and  perhaps  he  knew  her  by  sight.  She 
thought  a  moment  longer,  and  then  wrote  a  few  words  :  — 

'Impossible.  If  you  really  wish  to  help  a  person  in 
great  distress,  be  patient.  Await  letter.' 

This  looked  very  cold  when  it  was  written,  but  she 
thought  it  would  do,  and  she  felt  sure  that  Castiglione 
would  obey  her  request.  At  least,  he  could  not  leave 
Milan  until  he  received  the  letter  she  was  about  to 
write  to  him. 

It  reached  him  on  the  following  evening,  and  in  the 
tender,  beseeching  words  he  read  what  was  worse  than 
a  sentence  of  exile.  But  he  submitted  then,  for  it  was 


CHAP.    IX 


MARIA  145 


as  if  she  spoke  to  him,  and  he  could  hear  every  tone 
of  her  voice  in  the  silence  of  his  room.  Since  she  had 
taken  him  back  to  her  heart  she  dominated  him  by  the 
nobility  of  her  love,  and  by  her  touching  trust  in  his. 
He  read  her  letter  twice,  and  then  burnt  it  in  the  empty 
fireplace,  carefully  setting  a  second  match  to  the  last 
white  shreds  that  showed  at  the  edges  of  the  thin  black 
ashes. 

'You  are  a  saint  on  earth/  he  said  to  her  in  his 
thoughts.  'You  are  good  enough  to  make  a  man  be 
lieve  in  God.' 

Perhaps  he  rose  one  step  higher  in  that  moment, 
for  he  was  in  earnest.  But  it  had  cost  him  much. 
For  three  days  he  had  kept  his  valise  packed  and  ready 
to  start  at  any  moment,  and  he  saw  it  lying  in  a  corner 
as  he  turned  from  the  fireplace.  Once  again  the  strong 
temptation  came  upon  him  to  take  it  and  go  down 
stairs.  That  would  be  the  irrevocable  step,  for  he 
knew  well  enough  that  if  he  went  so  far  as  that  he 
would  not  turn  back. 

His  big  jaw  thrust  itself  forward  rather  savagely  as 
he  crossed  the  room,  picked  up  the  valise,  and  set  it  on  a 
chair  to  unpack  it.  When  he  had  put  his  things  away 
he  threw  it  into  a  corner,  lit  a  cigar,  and  sat  down  by  the 
open  window  to  watch  the  people  in  the  broad  street. 
He  hoped  that  he  might  not  think  for  a  little  while. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door  and  his  orderly  came 
in  with  a  telegram.  He  almost  started  at  the  sight  of 
the  brownish  yellowish  little  square  of  folded  paper  in 
the  man's  hand. 


146  A    LADY    OF    ROMP]  PART  i 

'Join  us  at  once  to  ride  in  military  races  on  Thursday. 
War  Office  telegraphs  order  exchange  to  your  colonel 
to-night.  Make  haste,  in  order  to  rest  your  horses. 
Welcome  back  to  the  regiment.  —  CASALMAGGIORK,, 
Colonel' 

Castigiione's  hand  dropped  upon  his  knee,  holding 
the  open  telegram.  The  orderly  stood  motionless, 
stolidly  waiting  to  be  sent  away.  He  would  have 
waited  in  the  same  position  till  he  dropped,  but  it 
seemed  a  long  time  before  the  officer  turned  his  head. 

'Pack  everything  to-night,'  he  said.  'Telephone  in 
my  name  to  the  station  and  order  a  box  for  the  horses 
as  far  as  Pisa,  and  be  ready  to  start  with  them  by  the 
first  train  to-morrow.  I  am  to  join  the  Piedmont 
Lancers  in  Rome  at  once.  You  will  spend  the  night  in 
Pisa  to  rest  the  horses,  and  come  on  with  them  the  next 
day.  I  will  attend  to  your  leave  and  pass.  Take  what 
you  need  for  yourself  for  four  days.  You  will  have  a 
day  and  a  night  in  Rome.' 

The  orderly  was  a  good  man  and  could  be  trusted. 
Castiglione  got  into  his  best  tunic,  buckled  on  his  sabre, 
took  his  cap  and  gloves,  thrust  the  telegram  into  his 
breast  pocket,  and  went  to  take  leave  of  his  colonel 
and  his  brother  officers,  wherever  he  might  find  them. 
He  was  in  no  hurry,  but  it  was  a  relief  to  get  out  of 
doors,  and  he  walked  slowly  along  the  broad  pavement, 
returning  the  salutes  of  the  many  soldiers  wrho  passed 
him. 

It  would  be  quite  out  of  the  question  to  disobey  such 
a  summons  as  he  had  just  received.  Nothing  short  of  a 


CHAP.    IX 


MARIA  147 


feigned  illness  could  have  excused  a  short  delay,  and 
besides,  the  wording  of  the  telegram  showed  that  he 
was  wanted  for  the  honour  of  his  old  regiment  in  the 
coming  races.  He  had  always  been  the  best  rider  of 
them  all,  and  if  the  Piedmont  Lancers  did  not  make  a 
good  appearance,  owing  to  his  voluntary  absence,  he 
would  not  be  easily  forgiven;  indeed,  he  would  hardly 
have  forgiven  himself. 

But  he  would  not  write  or  telegraph  to  Maria  that  he 
was  coming,  and  he  was  sure  that  she  would  not  write 
to  him  again  unless  he  answered  her  letter.  Once  m 
Rome,  he  meant  to  send  her  the  telegram  he  had  in  Ins 
pocket,  to  prove  that  he  had  been  ordered  back,  and 
that  his  coming  had  not  been  voluntary.  She  would 
see  him  then,  for  it  would  be  different;  she  could  not 
refuse,  as  she  might  if  she  thought  he  had  come  in  spite 
of  her  letter.  His  exchange  had  been  at  most  but  a 
matter  of  days;  it  had  become  a  matter  of  hours.  So 
much  the  better,  since  fate  condescended  to  help  him 
a  little. 

The  vision  of  hope  he  had  enjoyed  so  short  a  time 
rose  before  him  again.  Montalto  might  not  return 
after  all,  or  he  might  break  his  neck  on  the  way,  but 
Castiglione  doubted  the  probability  of  such  a  termina 
tion  to  his  own  troubles. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  workmen  were  very  busy  at  the  Palazzo  Montalto, 
and  the  rich  widow  from  Chicago  who  occupied  one  of 
the  large  apartments  was  a  little  nervous,  for  there 
is  a  clause  in  all  leases  of  portions  of  Roman  palaces  to 
the  effect  that  the  owner  may  turn  any  tenant  out  at 
short  notice  if  he  needs  the  rooms  for  his  own  use;  and 
as  the  good  lady  had  not  the  slightest  idea  of  the  real 
size  of  the  place,  she  had  long  supposed  that  she  was 
living  in  the  state  apartment. 

But  she  need  not  have  disturbed  herself  and  her 
friends  about  that.  Montalto  would  as  soon  have  let 
the  place  where  his  mother  and  his  wife  had  lived  with 
him  as  he  would  have  put  up  his  titles  at  auction.  He 
had  sent  orders  that  the  vast  suite  was  to  be  got  ready 
in  a  month's  time,  and  as  no  one  had  expected  that  he 
would  ever  come  back  to  live  there,  the  accumulation 
of  dust  was  found  to  be  portentous.  Moreover,  all  the 
carpets  had  disappeared,  no  one  knew  how,  the  uphol 
stered  furniture  was  all  moth-eaten,  the  window  fasten 
ings  would  not  work,  the  mirrors  were  hopelessly  tar 
nished,  and  the  ceiling  of  the  ballroom  had  been  badly 
damaged  by  the  bursting  of  a  water-pipe  in  the  apart 
ment  over  it. 

To  make  matters  worse,  the  old  steward  of  the  Roman 

148 


CHAP,  x  MARIA  149 

estates,  whose  business  it  was  to  keep  the  palace  in 
order,  was  in  his  dotage,  and  was  expected  to  have  a 
stroke  of  apoplexy  at  any  moment. 

Then  one  morning  a  business-like  young  man  arrived 
from  Montalto,  the  great  family  seat  on  the  Austrian 
frontier,  with  instructions  to  put  matters  right,  and  to 
lose  no  time  about  it.  The  old  Roman  steward  flew 
into  a  frightful  rage  because  the  Montalto  steward  was 
his  superior,  and  promptly  had  his  stroke  of  apoplexy, 
which  helped  things  a  little  without  killing  him.  The 
business-like  }roung  man  spent  one  whole  day  in  watch 
ing  the  people  at  work  and  never  said  a  word,  but 
when  the  evening  came,  he  had  them  all  paid  and  he 
turned  them  out,  to  their  amazement  and  mortifica 
tion.  Then  he  took  a  cab  and  drove  to  the  Via  San 
Martino  and  asked  to  see  the  Countess,  just  before  she 
dressed  for  dinner.  He  was  a  very  modest  young  man, 
and  he  waited  in  the  hall  for  her  answer;  and  when 
Agostino  came  back  to  inquire  more  particularly  who 
he  was  and  what  he  wanted,  he  said  that  he  was  the 
chief  steward  of  Montalto  and  had  a  message  from  His 
Excellency  the  Count  to  Her  Excellency  the  Countess, 
if  she  would  be  so  kind  as  to  receive  him.  In  the  eyes 
of  the  butler  he  at  once  became  an  important  personage, 
and  many  apologies  were  offered  for  having  let  him 
wait  in  the  outer  hall. 

Maria  received  him  in  her  sitting-room.  In  her  deep 
mourning  she  looked  unnaturally  pale,  and  her  dark 
eyes  seemed  very  big.  She  pointed  to  a  chair  and  sat 
down  herself. 


150  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  i 

The  young  man  lost  no  time  and  told  her  at  once  that 
the  Count  had  sent  him  to  see  that  the  palace  was  made 
habitable  at  once,  and  desired  that  the  Countess  should 
be  consulted  on  every  point  about  which  she  was  willing 
to  give  her  opinion.  She  was  to  select  her  own  rooms 
and  direct  that  they  should  be  hung  and  furnished  to 
her  taste,  and  the  Count  would  esteem  it  a  great  favour 
if  she  would  take  the  trouble  to  order  everything  else 
to  be  changed  as  she  thought  best,  excepting  only  the 
late  Dowager  Countess's  rooms,  which  he  desired  should 
not  be  touched.  Her  Excellency  doubtless  knew  which 
those  rooms  were,  and  would  she  be  so  very  kind  as  to 
say  when  it  would  be  convenient  for  her  to  meet  her 
obedient  servant  at  the  palace  and  to  give  him  her 
orders.  He  wTas  instructed  to  spare  no  trouble  or 
expense  in  order  to  please  her  if  possible. 

Maria  recognised  her  husband's  formal  expressions 
in  what  the  quiet  young  man  said  so  fluently.  Doubt 
less  Montalto  had  written  every  word  of  his  orders  with 
his  own  hand,  and  the  steward  had  read  them  over  till 
he  knew  them  by  heart.  She  thanked  him  and  said 
she  would  meet  him  at  the  palace  the  next  morning  at 
ten  o'clock. 

She  did  not  take  Leone  with  her,  for  she  was  sure 
that  the  great  neglected  house  would  be  gloomy  be 
yond  description,  and  she  did  not  wish  him  to  have  a 
sad  impression  of  the  house  in  which  he  had  been  born, 
and  in  which  he  was  now  to  live.  Besides,  she  could 
not  quite  trust  herself,  and  the  small  boy's  eyes  were 
marvellously  quick  to  detect  any  change  in  her  face. 


CHAP,  x  MARIA  151 

The  places  where  things  very  good  or  very  bad  to 
remember  have  happened  to  us  are  ever  afterwards  in 
habited  by  invisible  ghosts,  kind  or  malignant,  who 
show  themselves  to  us  when  we  revisit  the  spots  they 
haunt,  though  they  never  disturb  any  one  else.  Maria 
knew  that ;  an  evil  genius  had  long  dwelt  under  those 
ilex-trees  in  the  Villa  Borghese,  and  she  had  exorcised 
it,  but  there  were  spectres  in  her  former  home  that 
would  not  be  laid.  She  bit  her  lip  as  she  entered  the 
once  familiar  hall,  and  saw  room  after  room  opening 
out  beyond  it  in  a  long  perspective  that  ended  in  a  closed 
door  adorned  with  mirrors  in  its  panels.  That  door 
had  always  been  kept  shut  when  all  the  others  were 
open;  it  led  into  the  room  that  had  been  her  boudoir. 
Even  at  that  great  distance  Maria  could  see  how  dim 
the  old  glasses  in  the  panels  had  become. 

She  walked  slowly  through  the  apartment,  looking 
to  the  right  and  left.  Something  had  been  done,  but 
not  much.  There  was  a  ladder  against  a  wrall  in  one 
room  and  the  hangings  wrere  half  torn  down;  a  dozen 
rolls  of  new  carpet  lay  in  confusion  in  another,  redolent 
of  that  extraordinary  odour  which  only  perfectly  new 
carpets  have;  in  one  of  the  halls  beyond,  a  quantity  of 
more  or  less  decrepit  sofas  and  chairs  had  been  collected 
and  disembowelled,  and  the  moth-eaten  wool  and  musty 
horse-hair  lay  about  them  in  mouldering  heaps;  the 
portraits  were  still  in  their  places  on  the  walls,  and 
Montalto  seemed  to  look  sadly  down  from  half  a  dozen 
frames  at  his  young  wife  as  she  went  by  in  black;  there 
was  Montalto  in  armour  and  Montalto  in  black  velvet 


152  A    LADY    OF    Ru.aE  PART  i 

and  ruffles,  Montalto  in  a  Spanish  cloak  and  Montalto 
in  a  flowered  silk  French  coat,  with  a  powdered  wig; 
but  it  was  always  Montalto;  the  likeness  between  them 
all  from  generation  to  generation  had  been  amazing, 
and  the  old  pictures  made  Maria  nervous. 

The  young  steward,  whose  name  was  Orlando 
Schmidt,  walked  by  her  left,  hat  in  hand,  glancing 
respectfully  at  her  now  and  then  to  see  whether  she 
was  going  to  say  anything.  But  her  lips  were  pressed 
together,  and  he  fancied  that  the  rings  round  her  eyes 
grew  darker  as  she  neared  the  end  of  the  long  suite,  and 
still  went  on  towards  the  closed  door  with  its  tarnished 
mirrors.  She  looked  very  pale  and  tired. 

'Will  your  Excellency  sit  down  and  rest  a  while ?' 
he  asked. 

'Not  yet,   thank  you.     Presently.7 

And  she  went  slowly  on,  slowly  and  steadily,  towards 
the  closed  door,  till  she  laid  her  hand  on  the  chiselled 
handle  and  turned  it  and  pushed  against  the  panel. 
But  it  would  not  move. 

'Perhaps  it  is  locked/  suggested  Schmidt.  'I  had 
not  taken  it  for  a  real  door.  I  thought  the  apartment 
ended  here.' 

'No,'  Maria  answered  in  a  low  tone.  'This  used  to 
be  my  boudoir.  Try  and  open  it.  I  want  to  go  in.' 

The  young  man  tried  the  handle,  put  his  eye  to  the 
keyhole,  and  tried  again.  Then  he  shook  his  head. 

'It  is  not  a  very  strong  door,'  said  Maria.  'I  think 
we  could  break  it  open.  I  want  to  go  in.' 

'I  can  certainly  break  it,'  answered  Schmidt. 


CHAP.    X 


MARIA  153 


He  threw  his  shoulder  against  the  crack  and  pushed 
with  all  his  might,  but  though  the  door  creaked  a  little 
it  would  not  move. 

'Is  there  no  other  way?'  asked  Maria  impatiently. 
'  I  must  get  in  ! ' 

'Oh,  yes/  Schmidt  answered,  'there  is  another  way. 
I  can  smash  the  lock.' 

'  I  wish  you  would  ! ' 

He  stood  back  and  made  a  little  gesture  with  his 
hand  for  her  to  move  aside,  and  before  she  knew  what 
he  was  going  to  do,  the  heel  of  his  heavy  walking  boot 
struck  the  lock  with  the  force  of  a  small  battering-ram. 
The  door  flew  back  on  its  hinges  into  total  darkness, 
and  there  was  a  crash  of  broken  glass  as  one  of  the 
mirrors  fell  from  its  panel  to  the  marble  Venetian  pave 
ment. 

Maria  uttered  a  little  cry  of  hurt  surprise,  for  what 
Schmidt  had  done  seemed  brutal  to  her;  but  she  passed 
him  quickly  and  went  on  into  the  dark,  and  the  bits  of 
broken  mirror  cracked  under  her  tread.  She  was  sure 
that  the  room  had  never  been  opened  since  she  had 
left  it,  and  she  went  straight  to  one  of  the  windows 
without  running  against  the  furniture;  the  familiar 
fastenings  had  rusted  and  she  could  not  move  them 
quickly.  Schmidt  lit  a  wax-light  and  followed,  but 
before  he  reached  her  side  she  had  succeeded  in  open 
ing  the  inner  shutters,  and  the  bright  light  from  the 
slits  in  the  blinds  shone  into  the  room  through  the  dim 
panes. 

Maria  turned  from  the  window  and  looked  about  her. 


154  A    LADY    OF    ROME 


PART  I 


The  furniture  stood  as  she  had  last  seen  it.  A  moment 
later  Schmidt  threw  open  the  glass  and  the  blinds  and 
the  violent  sunshine  flooded  the  dusty  marble  floor, 
the  faded  pink  silk  on  the  walls,  the  tarnished  inlaid 
tables,  the  chairs,  and  a  little  sofa  near  the  fireplace. 

'It  is  too  much!'  cried  Maria  nervously.  'There  is 
too  much  light ! ' 

Schmidt  drew  the  blinds  near  together  without  quite 
shutting  them.  When  he  looked  behind  him  again 
Maria  was  sitting  on  the  little  sofa  near  the  fireplace, 
her  face  turned  from  him,  and  her  fingers  were  ner 
vously  pulling  at  a  rent  in  the  pink  silk  which  tore  under 
her  touch.  But  the  young  steward  did  not  notice  the 
action,  and  was  already  making  a  mental  list  of  the 
repairs  that  would  be  necessary  to  make  the  boudoir 
habitable  again.  Maria  looked  ill,  and  he  thought  she 
was  tired. 

But  the  evil  spirit  that  haunted  the  place  wras  there, 
beside  her  on  the  little  sofa,  and  she  could  hear  its 
demon  whisper  in  her  ear.  That  was  a  part  of  her 
expiation,  and  she  knew  it.  Then  she  spoke  to  Schmidt 
steadily,  but  without  turning  her  head. 

'I  wish  everything  taken  out  of  this  room/  she  said, 
and  she  listened  to  her  own  voice  to  be  sure  that  it  did 
not  shake.  'Everything  must  be  new,  the  hangings, 
the  ceiling,  the  furniture,  the  fireplace.  You  see  how 
dilapidated  it  all  is,  don't  you?' 

She  asked  the  question  as  if  to  justify  her  orders. 

'There  is  nothing  fit  to  keep,'  answered  the  steward, 
'except  that  inlaid  writing-table  and  the  bookcase.' 


CHAP.    X 


MARIA  155 


'I  prefer  to  have  them  changed,  too/  said  Maria 
quickly.  'Everything!  Let  the  new  things  be  dark. 
There  is  too  much  light  here.  Not  red,  either.  I  hate 
red.  Let  everything  be  dark  grey.7 

'A  greenish  grey,  perhaps?'  suggested  Schmidt 
diffidently. 

1  Yes,  yes !  But  dark,  very  dark,  with  black  furni 
ture.  Paint  this  marble  fireplace  black  - 

'Black?'  exclaimed  the  young  man,  with  a  polite 
interrogation.  'Perhaps  it  would  be  better  to  have  a 
new  one  of  black  marble  then?' 

1  Yes  —  anything,  provided  it  is  changed,  and  every 
thing  is  new  and  quite  different !  That  is  ail  I  want. 
And  my  dressing-room  was  there.'  She  pointed  to  a 
second  door.  'My  bedroom  was  beyond  it.  I'm  sure 
that  door  is  locked,  too.  Could  you  go  round  by  the 
other  wray  and  see  if  the  key  is  on  that  side  ? ' 

She  turned  her  white  face  to  Schmidt.  He  guessed 
that  she  had  been  moved  by  some  strong  association 
and  wished  to  be  alone  to  recover  herself,  and  in  a 
moment  he  was  gone;  for  he  was  a  tactful  person. 

When  she  was  alone  she  did  not  bury  her  face  in  the 
corner  of  the  tattered  little  sofa,  nor  did  any  tears  rise 
in  her  tired  eyes;  she  only  sat  there  quite  still,  and  her 
head  fell  forward  as  if  she  had  fainted;  but  her  fingers 
slowly  tore  little  shreds  from  the  faded  pink  silk  of  the 
sofa. 

Schmidt  stayed  away  a  long  time.  She  heard  his 
footsteps  at  last  on  a  tiled  floor  in  the  distance,  and 
raised  her  hand  quickly  to  cover  her  eyes,  while  her  lips 


156  A    LADY    OF    HOME  PART  i 

moved  for  a  moment.  When  the  steward  unlocked 
the  second  door  and  came  in,  she  was  standing  quietly 
by  the  window  waiting  for  him. 

The  worst  was  over  for  that  day,  and  though  she  was 
still  very  pale,  she  was  no  longer  deadly  white,  and  the 
haunted  look  that  had  come  back  suddenly  to  her  eyes 
w-as  gone.  She  went  through  the  house  systematically 
after  that,  conscientiously  fulfilling  her  husband's  re 
quests;  she  gave  clear  directions  about  her  own  rooms 
and  the  one  she  meant  to  give  Leone,  and  made  many 
suggestions  about  the  rest.  She  showed  Schmidt  the 
little  apartment  once  occupied  by  her  mother-in-law, 
and  advised  the  steward  to  have  it  carefully  cleaned 
and  set  in  order,  since  nothing  was  to  be  changed  in  it. 
At  present,  she  said,  it  looked  neglected,  and  the  Count 
would  certainly  not  like  to  find  it  so.  Schmidt  nodded 
gravely,  as  if  he  quite  understood.  She  was  so  quiet 
and  calm  now,  that  he  thought  he  had  been  mistaken 
in  thinking  her  disturbed  by  some  poignant  memory. 
She  had  probably  felt  ill. 

When  she  left  the  palace  at  last,  she  told  him  to  let 
her  know  when  the  refurnishing  was  so  far  advanced 
as  to  make  a  visit  from  her  necessary,  and  she  thanked 
him  so  kindly  for  his  attention  that  he  blushed  a  little. 

For  Orlando  Schmidt  was  a  modest  and  well-educated 
young  man,  of  a  respectable  Austrian  family  by  his 
father's  side,  but  an  Italian  as  to  his  nationality.  He 
had  been  to  good  schools,  he  had  studied  scientific 
farming  at  an  agricultural  institute  in  Upper  Austria, 
and  he  had  followed  a  commercial  course  in  Milan;  he 


CHAP.    X 


MARIA  157 


had  also  learned  something  about  practical  building, 
and  was  naturally  possessed  of  tolerably  good  taste. 

'I  hope  you  will  stay  here  and  take  charge  of  the 
Roman  estate/  said  the  Countess.  'I  fancy  the  lands 
are  in  as  bad  a  condition  as  the  apartment  upstairs.' 

She  smiled  graciously,   and  Schmidt  blushed  again. 

'Your  Excellency  is  very  kind/  he  said  modestly, 
as  he  stood  beside  her  low  phaeton  with  his  hat  in  his 
hand.  'I  am  lodged  here  in  the  palace,  if  you  need  me.' 

She  drove  away,  and  before  the  carriage  turned  the 
corner  of  the  palace  on  the  way  to  the  more  central  part 
of  the  city,  she  had  quite  forgotten  Orlando  Schmidt, 
though  he  had  made  such  a  favourable  impression 
upon  her. 

But  the  young  man  stood  before  the  great  arched 
entrance  and  watched  her  till  she  was  out  of  sight, 
with  an  expression  she  could  not  have  understood; 
and  afterwards  he  whistled  softly  as  he  turned  back  to 
ascend  the  stairs  again  in  order  to  make  careful  notes 
of  all  she  had  said  about  each  room.  He  began  in  the 
boudoir,  and  he  sat  down  on  the  little  sofa  near  the 
fireplace,  with  his  large  note-book  on  his  knee,  and  wrote 
busily  while  her  words  were  still  fresh  in  his  memory. 
Once  or  twice  he  looked  towards  the  door,  which  he 
could  see  as  he  sat,  and  the  broken  pieces  of  mirror 
caught  his  eye.  He  remembered  that  his  Italian  mother 
had  once  told  him  when  he  was  a  boy  that  it  was  very 
unlucky  to  break  a  mirror.  But  he  smiled  at  the  recol 
lection,  for  he  was  not  a  superstitious  young  man,  and 
had  received  a  half-scientific  education. 


158  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  i 

It  was  nearly  twelve  o'clock  when  Maria  left  the 
palace.  She  had  not  realised  that  it  was  so  late,  and  she 
had  told  the  coachman  to  take  her  to  a  dressmaker's 
far  down  the  Corso,  near  the  Piazza  del  Popolo.  She 
was  to  have  tried  on  a  couple  of  frocks  which  were 
necessary  to  complete  her  mourning;  but  the  gun-fire 
from  the  Janiculus  and  the  clashing  of  all  the  church 
bells  told  her  that  it  was  noon  already,  and  too  late, 
for  Leone  always  had  his  dinner  with  her  at  half-past 
twelve.  She  touched  Telemaco's  broad  black  back 
with  the  edge  of  her  parasol  to  call  his  attention,  and 
she  told  him  to  go  home  instead  of  stopping  at  the 
dressmaker's. 

He  asked  whether  he  should  pass  through  the  Villa 
by  Porta  Pinciana,  that  being  as  near  a  way  as  any 
other,  and  easy  for  the  horses,  and  she  nodded  her  assent. 
She  had  not  been  in  the  Villa  since  the  day  when  she 
had  walked  there  alone,  and  had  gone  home  and  found 
Montalto's  letter. 

It  was  a  warm  rpring  morning,  but  the  horses  trotted 
briskly  up  the  main  avenue  that  leads  in  from  the  gate, 
glad  to  be  in  the  pleasant  shade.  Maria  lowered  her 
parasol  to  the  bottom  of  the  phaeton  without  shutting 
it,  for  she  knew  she  should  need  it  again  in  a  few  minutes. 
There  was  no  other  carriage  in  the  avenue  just  then, 
but  several  riders  were  walking  their  horses  slowly 
towards  the  gate  after  exercising  them  on  the  course. 
The  first  she  met  were  two  civilians,  and  one  of  them 
was  Oderisio  Boccapaduli.  He  recognised  her  from  a 
distance,  and  before  he  was  near  enough  to  bow  he 


CHAP.    X 


MARIA  159 


glanced  quickly  behind  him,  as  if  he  expected  to  see 
some  one.  She  did  not  know  the  other  man.  Oderisio 
took  off  his  hat,  and  she  smiled  arid  nodded.  Then 
came  a  captain  of  artillery  on  a  strong  Hungarian  horse 
that  was  evidently  in  a  bad  temper  and  hard  to  manage. 
Maria  turned  her  head  to  watch  them  after  she  had 
passed,  but  her  carriage  was  going  at  a  smart  pace 
and  she  soon  looked  before  her  again.  Not  far  ahead 
were  two  officers  of  the  Piedmont  Lancers,  walking 
their  horses  and  talking  together. 

One  was  the  same  young  lieutenant  who  had  jumped 
his  English  mare  in  and  out  of  the  ring  for  her  benefit 
on  that  morning  when  she  had  been  on  foot.  She 
might  have  met  him  there  any  day.  The  other  was 
Baldassare  del  Castiglione,  and  she  had  not  known  that 
he  was  in  Rome. 

She  was  so  startled  that  she  made  a  movement  to 
raise  her  open  parasol  and  hide  her  face;  but  she  in 
stantly  understood  the  absurdity  of  doing  such  a  tiling 
and  dropped  it  again,  and  looked  steadily  towards  the 
advancing  horsemen,  though  for  a  few  seconds  she 
could  not  see  them.  They  were  hidden  in  a  fiery  mist 
that  rose  between  her  and  them.  It  dissolved  suddenly, 
and  Castiglione  was  gravely  saluting  her;  his  face  was 
calm,  but  his  eyes  wrere  blazing  blue.  The  young 
lieutenant  raised  his  hand  to  his  cap  almost  at  the 
same  instant.  With  infinite  difficulty  Maria  slowly  bent 
her  head  in  answer,  but  she  did  not  turn  her  eyes  as 
the  two  men  passed  her,  and  in  another  moment  she 
had  left  them  behind. 


160  A    LADY    OF   ROME  PART  i 

Then  she  felt  that  her  heart  was  beating  again 7  for 
she  was  sure  that  it  had  quite  stopped.  But  at  the 
same  instant  her  hand  unconsciously  relaxed,  and  her 
open  parasol,  which  was  already  half  over  the  step  of 
the  phaeton,  flew  out,  rolled  a  little  way,  and  lay  in  th^ 
middle  of  the  road,  with  the  handle  upwards. 

She  sat  up  quickly  and  called  to  Telemaco  to  stop. 
But  the  old  man  was  a  little  deaf,  and  she  had  to  call 
twice  before  he  checked  the  quickly-trotting  pair  and 
brought  them  to  a  stand. 

1  My  parasol ! '  she  cried,  as  the  coachman  looked 
over  his  shoulder.  'Give  me  the  reins  and  get  it/  she 
added. 

She  heard  the  hoofs  of  a  horse  cantering  up  behind 
her,  and  she  looked  round.  Castiglione  must  have 
turned  in  the  saddle  to  look  after  her,  and  must  have 
seen  the  parasol  fall.  It  lay  with  the  handle  upward, 
and  parasol  handles  chanced  to  be  long  that  year.  It 
was  easy  for  a  good  rider  to  bend  low  and  pick  the 
thing  up  almost  without  slackening  his  pace,  and  in 
another  moment  he  was  beside  the  carriage  giving  it 
back  to  Maria. 

'Thank  you/  she  said  faintly.  'I  did  not  know  you 
were  in  Rome.7 

A  quick  word  rose  to  his  lips,  but  he  checked  it. 
Then  he  bent  down  to  her  from  the  saddle,  on  pretence 
of  brushing  an  imaginary  fly  from  his  horse's  shoulder. 

'I  thought  you  would  rather  not  know  it  from  me/ 
he  said  quietly,  but  so  low  that  the  deaf  coachman 
could  not  hear.  'Good  morning,  Contessa/  he  added 


CHAP.    X 


MARIA  161 


more  loudly,  as  he  straightened  himself  in  the  saddle 
and  saluted  again. 

He  was  gone,  trotting  back  to  join  his  companion; 
but  she  would  not  look  after  him  when  she  had  told 
Teiemaco  to  drive  on.  And  all  the  way  home  a  great 
wave  of  joy  was  surging  up  round  her,  to  her  very  feet, 
and  she  was  trying  to  climb  higher  lest  it  should  rise 
and  overwhelm  her;  and  she  was  clinging  to  something 
dark,  and  cold,  and  hard  as  a  black  marble  pillar,  that 
was  Montalto,  and  duty,  and  death,  all  in  one. 

That  afternoon  a  note  came  for  her,  brought  to  the 
door  by  a  trooper  and  left  with  the  remark  that  there 
was  no  answer. 

It  contained  the  telegram  Castiglione  had  received  in 
Milan,  and  a  sheet  of  note-paper  on  which  a  few  words 
were  written  in  pencil. 

'This  explains  itself,'  he  wrote.  'It  is  the  inevitable. 
I  shall  not  try  to  see  you.'  She  knew  that  she  ought  to 
be  proud  of  his  good  faith,  but  it  was  not  easy. 


CHAPTER  XI 

MORE  than  a  month  had  passed  and  it  was  near  the 
end  of  May ;  yet  Maria  had  not  again  exchanged  a  word 
with  Castiglione.  She  had  seen  him  twice  in  the  street, 
from  a  distance,  but  she  was  not  sure  that  he  had  seen 
her  the  second  time.  If  he  saw  her,  he  certainly  wished 
her  to  think  that  he  did  not.  She  never  went  to  the 
Villa  Borghese,  nor  drove  towards  Tor  di  Quinto  nor 
along  the  beautiful  Monte  Parioli  avenue,  lest  she 
should  meet  him  in  one  of  those  places  where  officers 
ride  at  all  hours  of  the  day.  On  his  side,  he  avoided 
the  streets  through  which  she  was  likely  to  pass.  It 
was  easy  enough  to  do  that,  and  as  she  was  in  mourning 
he  was  sure  not  to  find  her  where  people  met  in  the 
houses  of  mutual  acquaintances. 

For  he  had  no  intention  of  shutting  himself  up,  being 
much  too  sensible  not  to  foresee  that  if  he  did  so  people 
would  say  he  spent  his  time  with  her.  He  showed 
himself  in  many  places,  on  the  contrary,  frequented 
Teresa  Crescenzi's  drawing-room  at  tea-time,  dined 
assiduously  with  his  cousins  the  Boccapaduli,  at  whose 
house  the  old-fashioned  Romans  congregated,  and  also 
with  the  Campodonico,  and  he  was  often  at  the  Parenzos' 
pretty  house  in  the  Via  Ludovisi,  which  was  a  favourite 
gathering-place  of  the  political  party  then  in  power, 

162 


CHAP,  xi  MARIA  163 

and  of  that  portion  of  the  diplomatic  corps  which  was 
accredited  to  the  Quirinal  and  not  to  the  Vatican.  The 
Duca  di  Casalmaggiore  had  become  a  friend  of  Parenzo's, 
and  Castiglione  took  a  good  deal  of  pains  to  be  seen  as 
often  as  possible  in  society  by  his  colonel,  who  was  of  an 
inquisitive  turn  of  mind.  In  order  to  make  his  exist 
ence  still  more  patent  in  the  eyes  of  his  comrades,  he 
lodged  with  one  of  them,  a  man  of  his  own  age  who  was 
also  not  very  well  off,  and  who  could  hardly  help  know 
ing  where  Baldassare  went,  what  he  did,  and  whether 
he  received  many  notes  addressed  in  feminine  hand 
writing  or  not.  The  consequence  of  all  this,  and  of  his 
assiduity  in  matters  of  duty,  was  that  Teresa  Crescenzi's 
latest  story  got  little  credit,  and  his  brother  officers 
said  that  he  wras  ambitious  and  was  going  in  for  the 
career  in  earnest.  The  colonel,  who  was  a  widower 
with  a  son  in  the  navy  and  a  daughter  married  in 
Naples,  and  whom  Teresa  had  once  vainly  tried  to 
capture  for  herself,  disliked  her  and  so  effectually 
ridiculed  her  invention  that  the  rest  of  Castiglione's 
comrades  fell  into  the  way  of  laughing  at  her,  too ;  and 
they  said  that  after  having  failed  to  marry  the  colonel 
she  had  tried  to  catch  Baldassare,  and  now  meant  to 
revenge  herself  because  he  would  not  have  her.  His 
churn,  too,  told  them  that  he  certainly  had  no  secret 
love  affair,  and  that  when  he  was  not  on  duty  or  at 
the  officers'  club,  or  where  every  one  could  see  him, 
he  was  in  his  lodgings  reading  German  books  on  mili 
tary  tactics.  Clearly  he  was  going  in  for  the  career. 
lie  did  not  act  or  look  like  a  man  in  love  either ;  not 


164  A    LADY    OF    ROME 


PART  1 


in  the  least.  He  had  not  been  talkative  before  lie  left 
the  regiment,  but  since  he  had  returned  he  took  more 
pains  than  formerly  to  join  in  the  conversation.  Another 
point  in  his  favour  was  that  he  never  had  any  vague 
engagement  which  hindered  him  from  joining  in  any 
thing  that  was  unexpectedly  proposed.  Whatever  he 
had  to  do  was  open  and  definite;  when  it  was  not  duty, 
it  was  a  real  promise  to  dine  with  some  one  whom  he 
named,  and  he  took  care  to  have  it  known  that  he 
went;  or  else  he  had  agreed  to  ride  somewhere  with  an 
acquaintance,  and  if  any  one  took  the  trouble  to  go  to 
that  place,  there  he  was,  sure  enough,  with  the  man  he 
had  named.  In  what  was  left  of  society  so  late  in  the 
season,  if  he  once  talked  especially  to  any  one  woman 
he  gave  himself  as  much  pains  to  amuse  and  interest 
another  on  the  morrow.  He  was  such  a  model  of  a 
sensible  man  and  such  a  good  officer  that  the  colonel,  who 
was  rich  enough  to  have  afforded  the  luxury  of  a  poor 
son-in-law,  wished  he  had  another  daughter  that  he 
might  marry  her  to  Castiglione ;  and  he  said  so  openly, 
to  the  great  edification  of  Roman  society. 

As  for  Maria  Montalto  she  did  not  speak  of  him  again 
to  Giuliana,  but  the  latter  knew  she  never  let  him  come 
to  the  house  and  that  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to 
see  him  as  rarely  as  possible.  Giuliana  was  too  simple 
and  natural  to  care  whether  this  excellent  state  of 
tilings  was  due  to  her  own  advice  or  to  Montalto's 
approaching  return.  It  was  enough  that  Maria  was 
doing  right  and  giving  the  gossips  nothing  to  talk  about. 

Parenzo  and  his  wife  went  to  England  at  this  time, 


CHAP.    XI 


MARIA  165 


with  the  intention  of  spending  three  weeks  there.  The 
Marchese,  it  was  understood,  was  entrusted  with  some 
special  political  business,  and  as  a  matter  of  course  he 
took  his  wife  with  him;  for  the  first  time  in  her  life 
Maria  was  glad  to  part  from  her  old  friend. 

There  are  ordeals  which  it  is  easier  to  face  alone  than 
under  the  eyes  of  others,  even  of  those  we  love  best; 
there  are  tortures  which  are  a  little  easier  to  bear  when 
our  dearest  friends  are  not  watching  our  faces  to  see 
if  we  shall  wince. 

The  date  of  Montalto's  return  was  approaching,  and 
the  state  apartment  in  the  palace  was  almost  ready, 
thanks  to  Orlando  Schmidt's  quiet  energy  and  to  a 
rather  lavish  expenditure  of  money.  He  was  a  truly 
wonderful  young  man,  Maria  thought,  for  he  seemed 
to  know  everything  that  was  useful  and  possessed  the 
power  of  making  people  work  without  so  much  as  com 
plaining  till  they  were  quite  exhausted.  He  never 
raised  his  voice,  he  never  spoke  roughly  to  a  workman ; 
but  he  seemed  to  inspire  something  like  terror  and 
abject  submission  in  all  whom  he  employed,  and  they 
spoke  in  whispers  when  he  was  near  and  worked  till 
they  could  work  no  longer. 

Maria  went  to  the  apartment  twice  again,  once  to 
select  the  hangings  and  stuffs  for  her  own  rooms  out  of 
a  quantity  that  had  been  sent  for  her  approval,  and  once 
again  when  the  furnishing  was  almost  finished.  She 
was  quiet  and  collected,  for  nothing  was  left  to  remind 
her  of  the  old  boudoir  and  the  rest.  At  her  second  visit 
she  was  surprised  to  find  that  the  small  room  had  three 


166  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  i 

doors  instead  of  two  as  formerly,  and  she  asked 
the  steward  if  the  third  one  was  real,  or  an  imitation 
fastened  against  the  solid  wall  for  the  sake  of  sym 
metry. 

'It  is  a  real  door,'  answered  Schmidt.  'It  had  been 
thinly  walled  up  and  plastered  over  long  ago,  and  I 
found  it  accidentally,  and  took  the  liberty  of 
opening  it  again.  I  hope  your  Excellency  will  ap 
prove.' 

'It  looks  well/  Maria  said,  for  it  helped  to  change 
the  aspect  of  the  room;  'but  wiiere  does  it  take 
one?' 

'To  the  chapel,'  replied  the  stewrard.  'I  found  a 
narrow  passage  leading  directly  to  a  small  door  on  the 
left  side  of  the  altar.  You  can  thus  reach  the  chapel 
by  a  private  way  without  going  through  the  apartment. 
The  corridor  was  quite  dark,  but  I  have  had  electric 
light  put  in.  The  key  is  here,  you  see.' 

Schmidt  moved  it  and  opened  the  door  at  the  same 
time  with  his  other  hand,  and  Maria  saw  a  narrow  pas 
sage,  brightly  lit  up.  The  walls  were  white  and  var 
nished,  and  the  floor  was  of  plain  white  tiles. 

'It  must  have  been  made  in  the  beginning  of  the 
eighteenth  century/  Schmidt  said.  'There  was  a 
Countess  at  that  time  who  was  a  princess  of  Saxony 
and  was  excessively  devout.  She  died  mad.' 

'You  know  the  family  history  better  than  I  do/ 
observed  Maria. 

'We  have  served  the 'Excellent  house  from  father  to 
son  more  than  two  hundred  years.' 


CHAP.    XI 


MARIA  167 


Schmidt  said  this  as  if  he  were  telling  her  the  most 
ordinary  fact  in  the  world. 

4  Will  your  Excellency  please  go  to  the  chapel  by  the 
private  passage?'  he  asked. 

Maria  let  him  lead  the  way  and  followed  him.  She 
was  gratified  by  the  use  he  had  made  of  his  discovery, 
for  she  thought  that  it  would  sometimes  be  a  relief  to 
go  to  the  chapel  alone  and  unnoticed.  But  she  also 
wished  to  assure  herself  that  no  one  else  could  use  the 
corridor,  and  that  there  was  a  bolt  or  a  lock  on  the  door 
at  the  other  end.  It  was  not  that  she  distrusted 
Schmidt;  on  the  contrary,  she  thought  very  well  of  him, 
and  was  sure  that  he  had  consulted  only  her  convenience 
in  what  he  had  done.  But  when  she  thought  of 
what  was  before  her,  she  felt  very  defenceless  in  the 
great  old  house,  so  different  from  the  comfortable 
little  modern  apartment  •  in  which  she  had  lived 
with  Leone,  where  there  were  no  hidden  stair 
cases,  nor  secret  passages,  nor  legends  of  mad  count 
esses  in  the  eighteenth  century,  nor  any  ghosts  of 
Maria's  own  life. 

Apparently  Schmidt  had  told  her  the  exact  truth 
about  the  passage,  which  was  much  longer  than  she 
had  expected,  and  turned  to  the  right  very  soon,  and 
was  straight  beyond  that  for  twenty  yards  or  more. 
Maria  guessed  that  it  here  followed  the  long  wall  of  the 
great  ball-room,  which  had  no  entrances  opposite  the 
windows.  She  reached  the  door  of  the  chapel,  and  the 
electric  light  showed  her  a  strong  new  bolt  with  a  brass 
knob,  besides  the  spring  latch. 


168  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  i 

'It  is  quite  private,  you  see/  said  Schmidt.  'The 
door  can  be  fastened  from  this  side.' 

'I  see.  It  is  very  satisfactory.  You  have  thought 
of  everything.' 

He  opened  the  door  of  the  small  dim  chapel,  but  she 
would  not  go  in.  It  had  memories  for  her  which  she 
was  afraid  to  stir.  She  remembered  how  she  had  once 
gone  there  alone  between  midnight  and  morning  with  a 
great  horror  upon  her;  and  how  she  had  knelt  down, 
setting  her  candlestick  on  the  pavement  beside  her; 
and  the  dawn  had  found  her  there  still.  She  knew 
also  that  in  another  week  or  ten  days  she  would 
have  to  kneel  there  at  mass  on  a  Sunday;  and 
Montalto  would  be  kneeling  on  one  side  of  her,  and 
Leone  with  his  bright  blue  eyes  would  be  on  the 
other. 

'Thank  you/  she  said  to  the  steward.  'I  will  not  go 
into  the  chapel  now.' 

'Nothing  has  been  changed  there/  he  answered.  'It 
has  merely  been  thoroughly  cleaned.' 

Maria  remembered  the  two  hideous  barocco  angels 
in  impossible  gilt  draperies  that  supported  a  dreadful 
gilt  canopy  above  the  tabernacle;  and  the  absurd 
decorations  of  the  miniature  dome;  and  the  detestable 
assemblage  of  many-coloured  marbles;  and  all  the 
details  that  recalled  the  atrocious  taste  introduced 
under  the  Spanish  influence  in  the  south  of  Italy  during 
the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries.  She  had 
seen  nothing  of  all  that  when  she  had  come  there  alone, 
long  after  midnight,  years  ago,  with  only  her  one  flicker- 


CHAP,  xi  MARIA  169 

ing  candle  to  light  her  through  the  great  dark  rooms 
and  to  show  her  where  the  altar  was. 

'I  thought  the  Count  would  not  like  to  have  electric 
light  in  the  chapel/  said  Schmidt,  as  he  fastened  the 
door  carefully.  'The  key  for  the  lights  in  the  passage 
is  here  on  the  wall,  your  Excellency,  just  on  a  level 
with  the  lock  as  you  come  in.' 

'It  is  really  very  well  arranged/  Maria  answered, 
and  as  the  passage  was  not  wide  enough  for  two  persons 
to  pass  conveniently,  she  turned  and  led  the  way  back. 

'I  have  had  the  walls  varnished,  because  almost  any 
sort  of  tinting  might  rub  off  on  your  Excellency's  dress/ 
said  Schmidt.  'The  passage  is  so  extremely  narrow, 
you  see.' 

'It  is  very  nice/  Maria  answered.  'It  was  most 
sensible  of  you.' 

Behind  her,  Orlando  Schmidt  blushed  with  pleasure 
at  her  praise,  and  watched  her  graceful  moving  figure, 
shown  off  against  the  shining  white  walls  by  the  close- 
fitting  black  she  wore.  They  reached  the  boudoir, 
and  there  also  Schmidt  closed  and  locked  the  door. 
But  this  time  he  took  out  the  key  and  handed  it  to 
Maria. 

'As  the  passage  is  for  your  Excellency's  private  use, 
you  may  prefer  to  take  away  the  key,  since  the  work 
men  have  nothing  more  to  do  there.' 

'Thank  you/  Maria  answered. 

'The  servants  need  not  know  that  the  door  is  a  real 
one/  observed  Schmidt. 

It  chanced  that  Maria  did  not  much  like  the  maid 


170  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  i 

she  had  at  that  time,  but  as  the  woman  was  clever  she 
meant  to  keep  her.  It  struck  her  that  there  was  cer 
tainly  no  reason  why  she  need  know  that  her  mistress 
could  go  from  her  own  rooms  to  the  chapel  without 
being  seen,  if  she  wished  to  say  her  prayers  there  in 
private.  As  for  the  chapel  itself,  its  outer  door  was 
formerly  kept  locked,  and  Montalto  had  given  her  a  key 
to  it  when  they  had  been  married.  The  reason  for 
keeping  it  shut  was  that  the  altar  contained  a  reliquary 
in  which  was  preserved  a  comparatively  large  relic  of 
the  Cross,  already  very  long  an  heirloom  in  the  family. 
No  doubt  Schmidt  knew  this,  as  he  seemed  to  know 
everything  else  about  his  hereditary  employers  —  or 
masters,  as  he  would  have  called  them.  When  one 
family  of  men  has  served  another  faithfully,  those  who 
serve  possess  a  sort  of  universal  knowledge  of  such 
details  which  no  ordinary  servant  could  acquire  in  half 
a  lifetime. 

Maria  left  the  boudoir,  after  putting  the  key  into  the 
small  new  black  Morocco  bag,  which  had  taken  the 
place  of  the  rather  shabby  grey  velvet  one  she  had 
used  so  long.  When  she  came  to  live  in  the  palace  she 
meant  to  keep  the  key  in  her  writing-desk. 

'The  Count  wishes  me  to  be  here  when  he  comes/ 
she  said  as  they  passed  through  the  great  ball-room. 
'He  writes  that  you  will  engage  servants  and  see  to 
everything.  Our  old  butler  and  coachman  have  never 
left  me.  Do  you  think  I  may  keep  them  still  ?  I  wish 
to  do  nothing,  however,  which  does  not  agree  with  your 
instructions.' 


CHAP.    XI 


MARIA  171 


'My  master's  orders/  said  Schmidt,  'arc  to  meet  your 
Excellency's  wishes  in  every  respect.  lie  will  not  even 
bring  his  own  man  with  him,  and  I  have  orders  to 
engage  a  valet  for  him.  If  you  will  tell  me  what  day 
will  be  convenient  for  you  to  move,  I  will  see  that  every 
thing  is  ready.' 

'The  Count  writes  that  he  will  arrive  on  Sunday 
afternoon/  Maria  answered.  'I  had  better  be  here  two 
days  before  that.  I  will  come  on  Friday  morning.' 

'On  Friday?'  repeated  the  steward  with  a  little  sur 
prise. 

'Yes.     Are  you  superstitious,  Signor  Orlando?' 

She  really  could  not  call  him  'Signor  Schmidt';  it 
was  too  absurd;  yet  he  was  of  Italian  nationality. 

'No,  your  Excellency,  I  am  not.  But  most  people 
are.  If  the  Signora  Contessa  would  be  kind  enough 
to  call  me  simply  Schmidt/  he  added  with  a  little  hesi 
tation,  'it  is  an  easy  name  to  remember,  and  does  not 
occur  in  Ariosto's  poem.' 

She  looked  at  him  rather  curiously,  but  she  smiled  at 
his  last  words. 

'Very  well/  she  said.     'As  you  like.' 

'It  was  my  mother/  he  explained,  blushing  shyly. 
'She  is  very  fond  of  Ariosto,  and  she  insisted  on  christen 
ing  me  Orlando.  On  Friday  next  everything  will  be 
ready  to  receive  your  Excellency  and  the  young  gentle 
man.  Shall  I  provide  for  moving  the  Signora  Contessa's 
things?' 

'I  shall  be  much  obliged/  said  Maria,  who  was  glad 
that  she  was  to  be  spared  all  trouble. 


172  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  i 

She  went  home  feeling  as  if  she  were  in  a  painful 
dream,  from  which  she  must  awake  before  long.  In 
the  afternoon,  when  Agostino  was  out  with  Leone  and 
the  little  house  was  quiet,  she  went  to  the  telephone 
and  asked  for  the  number  of  the  Palazzo  Boccapaduli. 
She  got  it,  and  was  answered  by  a  man-servant.  She 
inquired  when  Castiglione  would  be  at  home,  but  was 
told  that  he  was  not  staying  in  the  house.  It  was  the 
only  address  she  knew,  so  she  asked  where  he  lived. 
The  servant  did  not  know,  but  would  go  and  find  out, 
if  she  would  hold  the  communication. 

A  few  moments  later  the  voice  that  spoke  to  her  was 
Oderisio's,  and  he  asked  with  whom  he  was  speaking, 
and  on  being  told,  at  once  inquired  if  it  was  she  who 
wanted  Castiglione's  address.  Yes,  it  was  she;  did  he 
know  it  ?  Yes,  he  did ;  and  he  gave  it.  Had  Castiglione 
a  telephone?  No,  but  he  might  be  at  the  officers'  club; 
did  she  wish  the  number  of  that  ?  No,  she  did  not  care 
for  it.  Thank  you,  and  good-bye. 

At  first  she  was  a  little  annoyed  that  young  Boc 
capaduli  should  know  she  wanted  Castiglione's  address. 
But  presently,  as  she  went  back  to  the  sitting-room,  it 
struck  her  that  it  was  just  as  well.  Oderisio  would 
understand  that  she  was  not  seeing  Baldassare  often, 
since  she  did  not  know  his  address  after  he  had  been 
in  Rome  nearly  a  month. 

She  wrote  him  a  short  note,  which  anybody  might 
have  read,  begging  him  to  come  and  see  her  on  the 
following  Thursday  after  half-past  two.  She  addressed 
it  and  stamped  it,  she  put  on  her  hat  without  calling 


CHAP.    XI 


MARIA  173 


her  maid,  and  she  went  out  to  post  it  in  the  letter-box 
at  the  corner  of  the  railway  station. 

She  was  sure  of  herself,  she  thought,  and  she  believed 
she  had  earned  the  right  to  receive  Castiglione  once 
again,  because  she  was  bravely  resolved  never  to  see 
him  alone  after  she  returned  to  her  husband's  house. 
That  resolution  had  formed  itself  at  the  instant  when 
she  had  told  Leone  that  Montalto  was  coming  back,  and 
she  had  not  wavered  in  it  since,  in  spite  of  what  she  had 
felt  when  he  had  brought  her  the  fallen  parasol  in  the 
Villa.  The  greatest  and  most  enduring  resolutions  in 
life  are  rarely  made  after  mature  consideration,  still 
less  at  those  times  of  spiritual  exaltation  which  are  too 
often  self-suggested,  and  sought  for  the  sake  of  a  half- 
sensuous,  half-mysterious  agitation  of  the  nerves  that 
is  far  from  healthy.  People  who  are  not  morbid  and 
are  in  great  trouble  generally  see  the  right  course  rather 
suddenly  and  unexpectedly;  if  they  are  good  they 
follow  it,  if  they  are  bad  they  do  not,  but  if  they  attempt 
a  careful  and  subtle  examination  of  conscience  they 
often  come  to  grief.  It  is  hopeless  to  analyse  processes 
in  which  conscience  and  mind  are  involved  together 
until  we  can  find  a  constant  coefficient  for  humanity's 
ever- varying  strength  and  weakness. 

During  more  than  a  month  Maria  had  acted  and 
thought  under  the  domination  of  one  idea;  she  had 
need  of  strength,  but  she  had  not  felt  the  want  of 
advice  or  help.  She  knew  better  than  the  harsh  old 
Capuchin,  better  even  than  Monsignor  Saracinesca, 
what  she  must  do,  and  as  for  help,  no  living  man  or 


174  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  i 

woman  could  have  given  her  any,  unless  it  were  Cas- 
tiglione  himself.  She  had  accepted  what  was  laid 
upon  her,  and  when  she  went  at  early  morning  to  kneel 
at  the  altar  rail  in  the  small  oratory,  she  prayed  for 
strength  and  for  nothing  else. 

So  far  it  had  come  to  her  and  had  borne  her  through 
more  than  any  one  who  knew  her  could  have  guessed; 
and  when  she  sent  for  Castiglione,  to  see  him  once  more 
and  for  the  last  time,  she  was  far  from  thinking  that 
she  did  so  from  any  weakness.  It  seemed  only  just, 
for  no  man  could  have  acted  more  honourably  and 
courageously  than  he,  and  he  had  a  right  to  know  from 
her  own  lips  what  she  meant  to  do. 

He  came,  knowing  what  was  before  him,  and  mean 
ing  to  do  what  he  could  to  spare  her  all  pain  and  useless 
emotion.  More  and  more  often  now  he  called  her  a 
saint  in  his  thoughts,  and  his  love  for  her  was  sometimes 
very  like  veneration. 

She  had  taken  care  that  Leone  should  not  be  in  the 
house  that  afternoon,  not  because  she  had  any  thought 
of  concealing  Castiglione's  visit  from  the  child,  but  out 
of  consideration  for  the  man  himself.  She  knew  only 
too  well  what  he  felt  when  he  saw  the  boy's  blue  eyes 
and  his  short  and  thick  brown  hair. 

He  came  in  civilian's  dress,  lest  his  brilliant  uniform 
should  attract  attention  from  a  distance  as  he  entered 
the  house  where  she  lived.  His  hand  met  hers  quietly 
and  the  two  lovers  looked  into  each  other's  earnest 
eyes.  By  a  common  impulse  they  sat  down  in  the 
places  they  had  generally  taken  when  they  had  met  in 


CHAP.    XI 


MARIA  175 


the  same  room  before,  on  opposite  sides  of  the  empty 
fireplace. 

'I  know  why  you  have  sent  for  me/  began  Baldassare, 
very  gently.  'May  I  try  to  tell  you?  It  may  be  a 
little  easier.' 

Maria  did  not  attempt  to  speak  for  a  few  moments, 
and  he  waited. 

'No/  she  said  at  last,  quite  steadily.  'You  could 
not  tell  me  just  what  I  have  to  say  to  you.  I  asked 
you  to  come  because  you  have  been  so  very  brave,  so 
very  generous  - 

She  choked  a  little,  but  recovered  herself  quickly. 
'It  is  only  just  that  I  should  tell  you  so  before  we 
say  good-bye/   she  went  on.     'I   knew  I   could   trust 
you  _  but  oh,  I  did  not  know  how  much  !' 

'I  have  only  tried  to  do  my  duty/  he  answered. 
'You  have  done  it  like  the  brave  man  you  are/  said 
Maria. 

'Please  -  'he  spoke  to  interrupt  her. 
'Yes/  she  went  on,  not  heeding  him.  'We  may  not 
meet  again,  we  two,  alone  like  this.  One  of  us  may  die 
before  that  is  possible.  So  I  shall  say  all  that  is  in  my 
thoughts,  if  I  can.  You  most  know  all,  you  must 
understand  all,  even  if  it  hurts  very  much.  My  husband 
is  going  to  take  me  back  altogether ;  he  has  forgiven 
me;  he  asks  me  to  be  his  wife  again.  Can  I  refuse?' 

She  had  not  meant  to  put  the  question  to  him,  and 
he  knew  that  she  expected  no  answer.  Her  tone 
showed  that.  But  he  would  not  let  her  think  that  in 
his  heart  he  rebelled  against  the  knife. 


176 


A    LADY    OF    ROMP] 


'No/ he  said  very  slowly.  'I  would  not  have  you 
refuse  what  he  asks.  It  would  be  neither  right  nor 
just.' 

In  spite  of  the  almost  intolerable  pain  she  was  suffer 
ing,  a  glow  of  wonder  rose  in  her  eyes;  and  there  was  no 
shadow  of  doubt  to  dim  it.  At  his  worst,  in  the  old 
days,  he  had  always  told  the  truth. 

'God  bless  you  for  that  P  she  cried  suddenly,  and  then 
her  voice  dropped  low.  'You  have  travelled  far  on 
the  good  road  since  we  last  talked  together/  she  said. 
'Further  than  I.' 

He  shook  his  head  gravely. 

'No/  he  answered.  'You  have  led  me,  and  I  have 
followed.7 

'We  have  journeyed  together/  she  said,  'though  we 
have  been  apart.  We  may  be  separated,  as  we  must 
be  now,  to  the  end,  but  we  cannot  be  divided  any  more. 
I  w-anted  to  tell  you  something  else  too,  this  last  time, 
and  you  have  made  it  easy  to  say  it,  and  altogether 
right.  It  is  this.  I  do  not  take  back  one  word  of  what 
I  said  to  you  and  wrote  to  you  before  I  knew  Montalto 
was  coming  home.  I  do  not  want  you  to  think  that  I 
have  changed  my  mind,  or  that  the  life  we  were  going 
to  lead  seems  to  me  now  one  little  bit  less  good  and 
true  and  honourable  than  it  seemed  to  me  that  first 
time  we  talked  together  here.' 

'  Do  you  think  I  doubted  you  for  a  moment  ? ' 

'You  might.  But  it  is  only  that  other  things  have 
changed.  We  have  not,  and  I  know  we  never  shall, 
and  in  the  end  we  are  to  meet  where  there  is  peace,  and 


CHAT.     XI 


MARIA  177 


somehow  it  will  bo  right  then,  and  we  shall  all  three 
understand  that  it  is.  Can  you  believe  that  too?' 

'I  wish  to.  I  shall  try  to.  If  anything  could  make 
a  man  believe  in  God,  it  is  the  love  of  such  a  woman 
as  you  are.' 

'You  have  my  love/  Maria  answered.  'And  some 
day  you  will  believe  as  I  do,  but  in  your  own  way,  and 
we  shall  be  together  where  there  are  no  partings.  Yes, 
I  am  sure  that  we  could  have  lived  as  we  meant  to,  and 
could  have  helped  each  other  to  rise  higher  and  higher, 
far  above  these  dying  bodies  of  ours.  But  we  shall 
reach  the  good  end  more  quickly  by  our  suffering  than 
we  ever  could  by  our  happiness.' 

'That  may  be,'  said  Castiglione,  'but  one  thing  is 
far  more  certain:  we  must  part  now,  cost  what  it  may.7 

'Cost  what  it  may!'  She  pressed  her  hands  to  her 
eyes  and  was  silent  a  little  while. 

'Has  he  spoken  of  Leone  in  his  letters?'  Castiglione 
asked  after  a  time,  in  a  tone  that  was  almost  timid. 

Maria  dropped  her  hands  upon  her  knees  at  once 
and  met  his  look. 

'Not  to  me,'  she  answered.  'But  he  gave  orders 
about  the  child's  room  to  the  steward  he  sent  from 
Montalto.  Everything  was  to  be  arranged  for  Leone 
just  as  I  wished.  That  was  all.' 

'Will  he  be  kind  to  the  boy,  do  you  think?'  asked 
Castiglione,  very  low. 

'I  know  he  will  try  to  be,'  Maria  answered  generously. 

That  was  her  greatest  cause  for  fear  in  the  future; 
it  was  the  stumbling-block  she  saw  in  the  way  of  Mont- 


A    LADY    OF    ROME 


PART   I 


alto's  wish  to  take  her  back;  but  although  he  might 
treat  the  boy  coldly,  and  avoid  seeing  him,  and  insist 
that  he  should  be  sent  away  to  a  school  as  soon  as  lie 
was  old  enough,  she  believed  that  her  husband  would 
be  just,  and  she  was  sure  she  should  leave  him  if  he 
were  not.  There  was  one  sacrifice  which  should  not  be 
exacted  of  her:  she  would  not  tamely  submit  to  see 
her  child  ill-treated.  At  that  she  would  rebel,  and  she 
would  be  dangerous  for  any  man  to  face. 

'Yes/  she  repeated,  'I  know  he  will  try  to  be  kind.' 

Castiglione  merely  nodded  and  said  nothing,  but 
Maria  saw  his  looks;  and  she  was  not  all  a  saint  yet,  for 
with  the  sight  came  the  thrill  of  fierce  elemental  mother 
hood,  rejoicing  in  the  strength  of  the  man  who  could 
kill.  There  was  nothing  very  saintly  about  that,  and 
she  knew  it. 

'We  must  not  think  of  such  things/  she  said,  as  she 
felt  the  deep  vibrations  grow  faint  and  die  away.  'Let 
us  take  it  for  granted  that  niy  husband  will  be  very 
just.  That  is  all  I  have  a  right  to  ask  of  him.' 

Again  Castiglione  bent  his  head  in  assent.  Then 
both  were  silent  for  a  long  time. 

'Am  I  never  to  know  anything  of  your  life  after  this?' 
he  asked  suddenly. 

'You  will  know  what  every  one  may  know/  she  said. 

'Nothing  more?  Only  to  hear  that  you  are  ill  or 
well  ?  Never  to  be  told  whether  he  really  does  what  he 
can  to  make  it  bearable  for  you  ?  May  I  not  have  news 
of  you  sometimes?  Through  Giuliana  Parenzo,  for 
instance  ?  Is  it  to  be  always  outer  darkness  ? ' 


CHAI'.     XI 


MARIA  1 79 


'Giuliana  will  know  what  you  all  will  know,  and  no 
more/  Maria  answered.  'If  I  must  not  tell  you  what 
I  suffer,  do  you  think  I  would  tell  her?  I  shall  not  toll 
myself!'  There  was  one  bitter  note  in  that  phrase. 
'You  will  always  know  something  that  no  one  else  can/ 
she  went  on,  and  her  voice  softened.  'And  so  shall  I, 
and  that  must  be  enough  for  us.  Is  it  so  little?' 

'Ah,  no !     It  is  all  of  us  two  that  really  lives !' 

She  heard  the  deeper  tone  of  rising  passion  not  far 
away,  and  she  interrupted  him. 

'It  is  all  I  shall  have  for  the  rest  of  my  life/  she  said, 
and  she  rose  suddenly  and  held  out  her  hand,  meaning 
that  it  was  time  to  part. 

'Already?'  he  asked,  not  leaving  his  seat  yet,  and 
looking  up  beseechingly. 

'Yes/  she  said.  'You  must  not  stay.  We  have  told 
each  other  what  had  to  be  said,  and  to  say  more  would 
not  be  right.  Less  would  not  have  been  just  to  you.' 

He  also  had  risen  now  and  stood  before  her,  meaning 
to  be  as  brave  as  she,  cost  what  it  might. 

'We  are  only  human/  she  went  on,  'only  a  man  and  a 
woman  alone  together,  and  if  I  let  you  stay  longer  this 
one  last  time,  there*'  may  be  some  word,  some  look, 
between  us  that  we  shall  regret.  Though  Diego  is  not 
here  yet,  I  became  his  wife  again  in  real  truth  on  the 
day  I  accepted  his  forgiveness;  and  as  his  wife,  no  word 
to  you  shall  pass  my  lips  that  he  might  not  hear.  We 
have  tried  to  do  right,  you  and  I ;  if  we  have  not  failed 
altogether,  God  help  us  to  do  better !  If  we  did  wrong 
in  those  few  sweet  days,  then  God  pardon  us !  I  thank 


180  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  r 

you  from  my  soul  for  being  brave  and  true  when  you 
might  have  dragged  me  down.  For  the  past  we  have 
forgiven  each  other,  as  we  hope  to  be  forgiven.  And 
so  good-bye.  I  would  bless  you,  if  I  dared;  I  can  ask 
a  blessing  for  you,  and  it  will  come;  I  am  sure  it  will. 
If  I  die  first,  I  shall  wait  for  you  somewhere,  and  you 
will  come.  If  you  are  taken  before  me,  wait  for  me ! 
Good-bye,  good-bye,  good-bye  ! ' 

Her  voice  was  sweet  and  steady  to  the  very  end, 
but  when  he  took  her  hand  at  last  it  was  cold,  and  it 
quivered  in  his.  He  began  to  lift  it  to  his  lips,  but  it 
resisted  him  gently,  and  he  obeyed  its  resistance. 

1  Good-bye/  he  said,  as  \vell  as  he  could. 

But  she  hardly  heard  the  syllables;  and  then,  in  a 
moment,  he  was  gone. 


3V 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  day  had  come,  and  Maria  was  waiting  alone  for 
her  husband  in  one  of  the  great  rooms  of  the  Palazzo 
Montalto.  She  had  told  Leone  that  she  would  send 
for  him  when  he  was  wanted,  and  he  was  thoughtfully 
consoling  himself  for  not  being  allowed  to  stay  with  her 
by  polishing  the  barrel  of  his  tin  rifle  with  his  tooth 
brush  and  tooth  powder,  and  he  had  the  double  satisfac 
tion  of  seeing  the  gun  shine  beautifully  and  of  making 
the  hated  instrument  useless  for  its  proper  purpose. 
And  meanwhile  he  wondered  what  his  papa  would  be 
like,  and  whether  he  should  always  hate  him. 

But  Maria  walked  restlessly  up  and  down  the  drawing- 
room,  and  her  head  felt  a  little  light.  Now  and  then 
she  stopped  near  one  of  the  open  windows  and  listened 
for  the  sound  of  wheels  below  and  looked  at  her  watch ; 
and  when  she  saw  that  it  was  still  early,  she  breathed 
more  freely  at  first  and  sat  down,  trying  to  rest  and 
collect  herself;  but  it  was  like  thinking  of  resting  ten 
minutes  before  execution,  and  she  rose  almost  directly 
and  began  to  walk  again. 

In  her  deep  mourning  she  looked  smaller  and  slighter 
in  the  great  room  than  in  the  simpler  surroundings  she 
had  left.  She  had  indeed  grown  a  little  thinner  of 
late,  but  she  was  not  ill,  nor  even  as  tired  as  she  had 

181 


A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  i 

expected  to  be  at  the  crucial  moment.  The  people 
who  feel  most  are  not  those  whose  nerves  go  to  pieces  in 
trouble,  and  who  get  absolute  rest  then  by  the  doctor's 
orders;  they  are  more  often  those  who  are  condemned 
to  bear  much,  for  the  very  reason  that  they  cannot 
break  down.  In  the  age  of  torture  the  weak  fainted  or 
died  and  felt  no  more,  but  the  strong  were  conscious 
and  suffered  to  the  end,  and  that  was  very  long  in 
coming.  Yet  no  one  ever  pities  the  strong  people. 

Leone  had  told  his  mother  that  the  white  patch  in 
her  hair  near  her  left  temple  had  grown  so  much  larger 
of  late  that  three  of  his  fingers  only  just  covered  it, 
and  he  had  kindly  offered  to  ink  it  for  her;  and  she 
was  somewhat  thinner  and  a  little  paler  than  she  had 
been  a  month  earlier.  But  that  was  all  there  was  to 
show  that  she  had  lived  through  weeks  of  distress. 
Montalto  would  scarcely  notice  the  white  lock  at  first, 
and  her  figure  looked  a  shade  more  perfect  for  being 
slighter.  She  had  never  been  a  beauty,  but  she  had 
more  grace  and  charm  than  ever,  and  she  was  only 
seven-and-twenty.  Giuliana  Parenzo  was  much  hand 
somer,  but  few  men  would  have  hesitated  between  her 
and  Maria,  who  had  that  nameless  something  in  every 
easy  movement,  in  every  lingering  smile,  in  each  soft 
tone  of  her  warm  voice,  that  wakes  the  man  in  men,  as 
early  spring  stirs  the  life  in  the  earth,  deep  down  and 
out  of  sight.  She  did  not  understand  what  she  had, 
and  for  years  she  had  lived  so  much  away  from  the 
lighter  side  of  her  own  world  that  she  had  almost  for 
gotten  how  the  men  used  to  gather  round  her  and  crowd 


CHAP.    XII 


MARIA  183 


upon  each  other  instinctively  to  come  nearer  to  her  in 
the  first  year  of  her  marriage,  as  they  never  did  for 
Giuliana.  She  used  to  notice  it  then,  and  she  had  a 
laugh  and  a  quick  answer  for  each  that  showed  no 
preference  for  any,  and  maddened  them  all  till  they 
were  almost  ready  to  quarrel  with  each  other;  but  she 
had  been  very  young  then,  and  she  had  not  under 
stood,  till  one  more  reckless  than  the  rest,  the  very  one 
she  trusted  too  much  because  she  loved  him  only  and 
too  well,  had  laid  waste  for  ever  her  fair  young  being, 
half-wrecked  his  own  life,  and  broken  the  heart  of  an 
honest  man. 

And  this  honest  man  had  forgiven  her,  for  love  of  her ; 
he  too,  and  he  more  than  any,  had  felt  that  her  smile, 
and  her  breath,  and  her  touch  could  drive  him  mad; 
and  now  that  he  was  coming  back,  the  minutes  were 
passing  quickly  —  a  very  few  were  left  —  still  fewer  - 
the  last  but  one  —  the  very  last,  as  she  heard  his  car 
riage  roll  in  through  the  great  arched  entrance  almost 
directly  under  her  feet. 

The  doors  were  open  beyond  the  drawing-room 
towards  the  ante-chamber;  one  door  only  was  shut 
between  that  and  the  outer  hall  where  the  butler  and 
footmen  in  deep  mourning  were  waiting  for  their  master. 

She  heard  it  opened,  a  once  familiar  voice  asked  in  a 
formal  tone  where  she  was,  and  a  servant  answered. 
Then  came  the  well-remembered  step.  In  the  painful 
tension  of  her  hearing  she  heard  it  far  away,  even  on 
the  soft  carpet,  more  clearly  than  she  had  ever  heard 
it  on  tiled  floor  or  marble  pavement. 


184  A    LADY    OF   ROME  PART  i 

She  steadied  herself  for  a  moment  against  the  corner 
of  a  heavy  table;  and  then  the  drawing-room  door, 
which  had  been  open,  was  shut,  and  Montalto  was  in 
the  room,  grey  and  hollow-eyed,  coming  towards  her 
with  thin  hands  outstretched  in  greeting.  By  a  miracle 
of  strength  she  went  forward  and  met  them  with  her 
own ;  met  his  eyes,  and  let  him  kiss  her.  She  sank  into 
a  chair  then,  and  he  was  close  beside  her,  trying  to  speak 
in  his  old  formal  way,  though  he  could  hardly  control 
his  voice. 

lie  seemed  dreadfully  changed,  and  when  she  saw 
him  clearly  a  sharp  pang  of  pity  wrung  her  heart.  His 
hair  and  pointed  beard  were  quite  grey,  his  colourless 
cheeks  were  painfully  thin,  and  his  hollow  eyes  burned 
with  a  feverish  fire;  he  stopped  speaking  suddenly,  in 
the  middle  of  a  sentence,  as  if  he  were  paralysed,  and 
his  lips  were  parched,  but  his  burning  gaze  did  not  waver 
from  her  face.  She  was  a  little  frightened. 

1  You  are  ill ! '  she  cried.     '  Let  me  get  you  something  ! ' 

She  half  rose,  but  his  thin  hand  caught  her  and  held 
her  back. 

'No/  he  said  hoarsely,  'I  am  not  ill.  It  is  only  that 
-  that  I  have  not  —  seen  you  —  for  so  long  ! ' 

The  words  came  in  gasps ;  the  last  ones  broke  out  in  a 
frantic  sob.  She  was  moved,  and  willing  to  be  touched, 
and  though  she  had  felt  the  old  physical  repulsion  for 
him  again  the  instant  he  came  near  her,  she  took  one 
of  his  hands  now  and  held  it  on  her  knees  and  stroked 
it  kindly. 

'  Diego!' 


CHAP,  xii  MARIA  185 

She  did  not  know  what  to  say,  so  she  pronounced  his 
name  as  softly  and  as  affectionately  as  she  could.  But 
she  had  not  spoken  yet,  and  at  the  sound  of  her  sweet 
voice  the  man  broke  down  completely. 

'Oh,  Maria,  Maria  !;  he  moaned,  drawing  her  hand  to 
his  chest  and  rocking  himself  a  little.     'It  was  all  a 
dreadful  dream  —  and  I  have  got  you  back  again - 
Maria  - 

The  over-strained,  over- wrenched  nerves  gave  way 
and  he  broke  into  a  flood  of  tears;  the  drops  ran  down 
the  furrows  of  his  thin  cheeks  arid  his  grey  beard  and 
wet  her  hand  as  he  pressed  passionate  kisses  upon  it, 
rocking  himself  over  it  and  sobbing  convulsively. 

Maria  had  lived  through  a  good  deal  of  suffering  and 
some  moments  that  now  seemed  too  horrible  to  have 
been  real,  but  she  had  never  had  any  emotion  forced 
upon  her  from  without  that  had  been  harder  to  bear 
calmly  than  what  she  felt  now. 

If  anything  could  strengthen  the  physical  repulsion 
that  made  her  shrink  from  her  husband's  touch  it  was 
the  sight  of  his  unmanly  tears  and  the  sound  of  his 
hysterical  sobbing.  If  anything  could  make  it  more 
lifficult  to  hide  her  loathing  it  was  the  knowledge  that 
she  had  wronged  him  and  that  she  owed  him  gratitude 
'or  his  free  forgiveness.  She  would  much  rather  have 
lad  him  turn  upon  her  like  a  maniac  and  strike  her  than 
)e  obliged  to  watch  the  painful  heaving  of  his  thin, 
bent  shoulders,  and  feel  the  hot  tears  that  ran  down 
ipon  hr  -  hands. 

It  was  so  unutterably  disgusting  that  she  felt  a  terribly 


186  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  i 

strong  impulse  to  throw  him  off,  to  scream  out  that  she 
would  not  take  his  forgiveness  at  any  price,  that  he 
must  let  her  go  back  and  lead  her  own  life  with  her 
child,  as  she  had  lived  for  so  many  years.  He  would 
suffer  a  little  more,  but  what  was  a  little  more  or  less 
to  a  man  who  seemed  half  mad  ? 

Then  the  wave  of  pity  rushed  back,  and  that  was  even 
worse.  It  was  the  pity  a  delicate  woman  feels  for  some 
wretched  living  thing  half  killed  in  an  accident,  so 
crushed  and  torn  that  the  mere  thought  of  touching 
it  makes  her  shrink  back  and  shiver  to  her  very  feet 
because  the  suffering  creature  is  not  her  own.  If  it 
were  hers  but  ever  so  little,  if  it  were  her  dog,  she  would 
feel  nothing  but  the  instant  womanly  need  of  saving  it 
if  she  could,  of  helping  it  to  die  easily  if  she  could  not. 

Maria's  hand  shrank  from  the  scalding  tears  and 
writhed  under  the  man's  frantic  kisses.  She  shut  her 
eyes  and  threw  back  her  head ;  her  face  was  drawn  and 
white,  and  she  prayed  as  she  had  never  prayed  in  her 
life,  for  strength  to  bear  all  that  was  before  her. 

It  had  seemed  just  possible,  because  she  had  imposed 
it  upon  herself  as  her  honourable  duty,  and  because 
the  husband  she  remembered  had  been  before  all  things 
proud,  and  as  full  of  a  certain  exaggerated  dignity  and 
self-respect  as  Spaniards  sometimes  are,  though  he  was 
only  half -Spanish.  She  had  felt  him  coming  back  to 
her  from  far  away,  like  a  dark  instrument  of  fate,  to 
which  she  must  give  herself  up  body  and  mind,  if  she 
hoped  to  expiate  her  sin  to  the  end.  It  had  seemed 
hard,  even  dreadfully  hard ;  but  this  was  worse.  Instead 


CHAP.    XII 


MARIA  187 


of  the  erect  and  formal  figure  and  the  grave  dark 
face  that  had  a  certain  strength  in  it  which  she  could 
at  least  respect  —  instead  of  that,  it  was  a  broken- 
down  man  who  came  to  her,  prematurely  old,  a  neuras 
thenic  invalid  no  better  than  a  hysterical  woman,  palsied 
with  unmanly  emotion,  Jacking  all  strength,  self-respect 
and  dignity,  and  without  even  a  rag  of  vanity  that 
might  have  passed  for  pride. 

She  was  not  stronger  in  her  hands  than  other  women, 
but  she  was  sure  that  it  would  be  easy  to  throw  him 
from  her;  he  would  fall  in  a  heap  on  the  carpet,  and 
would  lie  there  helpless  and  sobbing.  As  she  felt  the 
instant  contempt  for  his  weakness,  she  prayed  the 
more  for  courage  to  humble  her  own  strength  to  it; 
and  her  eyes  were  still  shut  tight  and  her  face  was 
white  and  drawn.  This  was  but  the  beginning  of  what 
must  last  for  years,  ten,  twenty,  as  long  as  he  lived,  or 
until  she  died  of  it. 

The  future  stretched  out  before  her  in  length  with 
out  end;  she  forgot  everything  else,  and  did  not  know 
that  the  tears  ceased  to  flow  and  presently  dried,  nor 
that  Montalto  drew  back  from  her  into  his  own  chair 
as  the  storm  subsided  within  him.  His  voice  woke  her 
from  the  dream  of  pain  to  come. 

'I  trust  you  will  forgive  my  first  emotion,  my  dear/ 
he  said  with  all  his  characteristic  formality.  'I  see 
that  I  have  made  a  painful  impression  on  you.  I  shall 
not  allow  it  to  occur  again.' 

It  was  such  a  quick  relief  to  see  him  more  like 
himself,  that  she  had  almost  a  sensation  of  pleasure, 


188  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  i 

and  she  smiled  faintly  while  she  tried  to  say  some 
thing. 

1  No  —  please  —  I'm  so  sorry  - 

She  could  find  no  connected  sentence.  He  rose  and 
began  to  walk  up  and  down  before  her,  making  half  a 
dozen  steps  each  way,  a  shadowy  figure  in  black,  pass 
ing  and  repassing  before  her. 

'I  believe  that  I  have  made  everything  clear  in  my 
letters/  he  said,  and  then  he  glanced  at  her  from  time 
to  time  without  pausing  in  his  walk  wiiile  he  talked. 
'I  shall  not  repeat  anything  I  have  written,  but  there 
are  one  or  two  other  matters  of  which  I  must  speak  to 
you  before  we  begin  life  again  together,  Maria.  They 
need  not  be  mentioned  more  than  once  either.  It  is 
better  to  be  done  with  everything  which  may  be  in  the 
least  painful  to  you  as  soon  as  possible/ 

In  spite  of  the  formal  manner,  there  were  kind  in 
flections  in  his  tone.  It  seemed  marvellous  that  he 
should  have  recovered  himself  so  soon,  and  it  wras  only 
possible  because  such  exhibitions  of  weakness  were  not 
really  natural  to  him.  Maria  had  felt  relieved  as  soon 
as  he  had  begun  to  talk  quietly,  and  when  he  left  his 
seat,  her  physical  repugnance  to  him  began  to  subside 
within  its  old  limits.  But  at  the  same  time  she  felt  a 
vague  fear  that  he  was  going  to  speak  of  Leone. 

'You  have  shown  remarkable  tact,  my  dear/  he  went 
on,  'and  you  will  have  no  difficulty  in  making  your 
friends  understand  that  our  long  separation  has  been 
principally  due  to  my  mother's  condition,  and  that 
since  she  is  gone '  -  -  his  voice  sank  a  little  —  '  we  have 


CHAP.    XII 


MARIA  189 


resumed  our  married  life.  This  will  be  easy,  no  doubt. 
May  I  ask,  without  indiscretion,  who  your  most  inti 
mate  friends  are?7 

'Giuliana  Parcnzo  is  my  only  intimate  friend/  Maria 
answered  at  once. 

'I  am  glad  of  that/  said  Montalto,  approving.  'She 
is  a  thoroughly  nice  woman  in  all  ways,  and  everybody 
respects  her.  Are  there  any  others  whom  you  see 
often?' 

'I  have  dined  a  good  many  times  with  the  Campo- 
donico  and  the  Saracinesca  and  the  Boccapaduli  - 
sometimes  with  the  Trasmondo.  I  have  never  gone  to 
balls.  On  the  whole,  I  have  tried  to  be  on  friendly 
terms  with  most  of  the  people  who  have  children  of 
Leone's  age.' 

She  had  boldly  brought  forward  the  question  which 
she  thought  he  meant  to  reach,  and  she  waited  for  his 
reply.  But  he  would  not  take  it  up. 

'Leone/  he  repeated,  in  a  musing  tone.  'Friends  for 
Leone.  Yes,  yes  —  that  was  quite  right.  I  will  see 
him  by  and  by.' 

'He  is  waiting  to  be  called/  said  Maria  quickly,  for 
she  was  anxious  to  get  over  the  difficult  moment  as 
soon  as  possible. 

'Presently/  answered  Montalto.  'I  have  one  or  two 
things  to  say  while  we  are  alone.  First,  as  to  your 
friends,  I  wish  you  to  understand  that  even  if  there  are 
some  whom  I  do  not  know,  they  shall  all  be  welcome 
here.  They  will  be  the  more  welcome  because  they 
stood  by  my  wife  when  she  was  in  trouble.' 


190  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  i 

He  put  a  little  emphasis  on  the  words,  his  figure  had 
straightened  and  he  held  his  head  high.  She  under 
stood  the  great  generosity  of  what  he  said. 

' Thank  you,  Diego/  she  said  in  a  low  voice.  'You 
are  very  good.' 

'There  is  only  one  person  who  shall  not  come  here/ 
he  continued,  in  a  tone  that  was  suddenly  hard. 

Maria  almost  started,  but  controlled  herself;  he  could 
only  mean  Castiglione. 

'Who  is  it?'  she  asked,  as  steadily  as  she  could. 

'Teresa  Crescenzi/  answered  Montalto,  turning  rather 
sharply.  'I  beg  you  never  to  receive  her.  She  spoke 
against  my  mother,  and  I  will  not  have  her  in  the  house.' 

Maria  actually  laughed,  though  a  little  nervously. 

'She  is  no  friend  of  mine/  she  said.  'I  do  not  care 
to  see  her.' 

'  You  need  not  quarrel  with  her,  my  dear,  if  you  meet. 
I  shall  take  the  responsibility  on  myself,  and  I  shall  be 
careful  to  let  her  know  that  it  is  I  who  forbid  her  my 
house.' 

He  was  not  a  short  man,  and  when  he  drew  himself 
up  he  looked  tall.  Maria  no  longer  felt  that  she  could 
throw  him  to  the  floor  if  he  took  her  hand. 

'I  have  not  many  real  friends  here  now/  he  said, 
more  gently.  'One  whom  I  especially  esteem  is  Mon- 
signor  Saracinesca.  Do  you  ever  see  him?' 

'I  saw  him  not  long  ago,  and  I  sometimes  meet  him 
at  his  father's  house.  We  are  on  good  terms.' 

'That  is  very  pleasant/  Montalto  answered.  'I  shall 
often  ask  him  here,  if  you  do  not  object.' 


CHAP.    XII 


MARIA  191 


'I  shall  always  be  glad  to  see  him/  returned  Maria. 
1  But,  please,  Diego,  do  not  consult  me  about  such  things. 
I  am  very  deeply  conscious  of  your  generosity  in  all 
ways,  and  this  house  is  yours,  not  mine.' 

'It  is  ours/  said  Montalto,  'except  for  Teresa  Cres- 
ccnzi.  I  do  not  wish  you  to  think  of  it  in  any  other 
way.  And  that  brings  me  to  the  last  point.  May  I 
inquire  whether  you  have  found  yourself  in  any  - 
how  shall  I  say  ?  —  in  any  financial  straits  in  which 
my  fortune  can  be  of  service  to  you  ? ' 

You  may  judge  a  man  of  the  world's  wisdom  by  the 
sort  of  wife  he  chooses,  but  the  test  of  a  gentleman  is  the 
way  he  treats  his  wife.  Maria  was  profoundly  touched 
by  her  husband's  question.  She  rose  from  her  seat 
and  went  close  to  him,  overcoming  her  repulsion  easily 
for  the  moment  as  she  took  his  hand  and  spoke. 

'No,  I  have  made  no  debts.  But  I  have  no  words  to 
thank  you  for  your  kindness.  I  shall  try  to  deserve  it.' 

1  It  is  only  what  I  owe  to  my  wife/  Montaito  answered, 
and  he  bent  over  her  hand  with  as  much  ceremony  as 
if  there  had  been  twenty  people  in  the  room. 

'I  have  something  to  tell  you,  too/  she  said.  'You 
ought  to  know  it.  Baldassare  del  Castiglione  has  come 
back  to  Rome.  We  have  met  alone,  and  we  have 
agreed  never  to  sec  each  other  again  —  except  as  we 
may  chance  to  find  ourselves  in  a  friend's  house  at  the 
same  time.' 

Montalto  could  not  help  dropping  her  hand  as  soon 
as  she  pronounced  Castiglione's  name,  but  his  face 
changed  little. 


A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  i 

'I  daresay  you  were  wise  to  see  him  once/  he  replied, 
•a  trifle  coldly.  '  We  need  not  refer  to  him  again.' 

She  could  not  have  expected  more  than  that,  but 
when  he  had  answered  she  was  a  little  sorry  that  she 
had  spoken  at  all.  He  would  willingly  have  trusted 
her  without  that  explanation. 

With  an  evident  wish  to  change  the  subject,  he  began 
to  ask  questions  about  the  apartment,  inquiring  how 
she  liked  it,  and  whether  she  had  found  Schmidt  efficient 
in  carrying  out  her  wishes. 

'Very/  she  answered  to  the  last  question.  'He  is  a 
wonderful  man.' 

'Yes/  Montalto  assented  coldly,  'in  some  ways  he  is 
-an  extraordinary  young  man.' 

There  was  something  more  reserved  in  the  tone  than 
in  the  words,  but  Maria  was  very  far  from  being  intimate 
enough  with  her  husband  yet  to  ask  whether  Schmidt 
had  any  fault  or  weakness  that  justified  his  master's 
evident  doubts  about  him.  She  wondered  what  the 
trouble  might  be. 

'  Shall  we  go  and  see  Leone  now  ? '  Montalto  suggested. 
'On  the  way  you  can  show  me  what  you  have  done  to 
the  house.  You  have  not  ruined  me  in  furniture/  he 
added  with  a  smile,  as  he  looked  round  the  rather  empty 
drawing-room. 

'I  left  as  much  as  possible  to  you/  Maria  an 
swered. 

She  was  thinking  of  Leone,  and  she  already  saw  be 
fore  her  the  sturdy  little  blue-eyed  boy  with  his  thick 
and  short  brown  hair.  They  went  on  through  the  house 


CHAP,  xii  MARIA  193 

to  the  door  of  Maria's  boudoir,  at  the  end  of  the  great 
ball-room. 

'That  is  where  I  have  installed  myself/  she  said,  point 
ing  to  it  and  turning  to  the  left,  towards  the  masked 
door  that  led  to  the  living  rooms  in  the  other  wing. 

'Yes,  I  remember/  answered  Montalto.  'And  this 
is  your  dressing-room,  I  suppose/  he  added  as  they 
walked  on.  'And  this  used  to  be  your  bedroom.' 

'Yes/  said  Maria  steadily.  'That  is  the  door  of  my 
bedroom.' 

Leone's  was  the  next,  and  in  a  moment  they  were 
standing  in  a  flood  of  afternoon  light,  and  Maria  bent 
down  and  kissed  the  small  boy's  hair  because  he  would 
not  turn  up  his  cheek  to  her,  being  very  intent  on  ex 
amining  Montalto 's  face.  But  Maria  dared  not  look 
at  her  husband  just  then. 

'Here  we  are  at  last,  dear/  she  said  as  well  as  she 
could,  still  bending  over  him. 

To  some  extent  she  could  trust  the  child's  manners, 
for  she  had  brought  him  up  herself,  but  her  heart  beat 
fast  during  the  little  silence  before  Montalto  spoke,  and 
she  wondered  what  his  tone  would  be  much  more  than 
what  he  was  going  to  say,  for  she  felt  sure  that  the  words 
would  not  be  unkind. 

Montalto  held  out  his  hand,  and  Leone  took  it  slowly. 
He  had  never  been  kissed  by  a  man,  and  did  not  imagine 
that  his  newly-introduced  papa  could  be  expected  to 
kiss  him.  This  was  fortunate,  for  Montalto  had  not 
the  least  intention  of  doing  so. 

'Can  you  ride  yet?'  he  asked,  with  a  smile. 


194  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  i 

'No/  Leone  answered,  but  his  face  changed  instantly. 
'Not  yet.' 

'I  will  teach  you,  my  boy,  and  as  soon  as  you  can 
trot  and  gallop  nicely  you  shall  have  a  good  horse  of 
your  own/ 

Leone  flushed  with  pleasure,  a  healthy  red  that  was 
good  to  see. 

'Oh,  how  splendid !'  he  cried,  and  his  blue  eyes  lit  up 
with  happiness.  'Really,  really?' 

'Yes,  really.' 

'When  shall  I  begin?' 

'  To-morrow  morning. ' 

'Hurrah!'  yelled  the  small  boy.     'At  last!' 

Maria  could  have  cried  out  too,  or  laughed,  or  burst 
into  tears  from  sheer  relief.  Montalto  had  uncon 
sciously  received  one  of  those  happy  inspirations  which 
turn  the  mingling  currents  of  meeting  lives ;  and  Leone 
was  already  astride  of  a  stick,  prancing  round  the  room 
on  an  imaginary  horse,  shouting  out  the  tune  of  the 
Italian  royal  march  and  sabring  the  air  to  right  and 
left  with  the  first  thing  he  happened  to  pick  up.  It 
chanced  to  be  the  tooth-brush  with  which  he  had  been 
polishing  his  tin  gun. 

Montalto  looked  pleased,  and  Leone  pranced  towards 
him  on  the  stick  and  pretended  to  rein  in  a  fiery  steed 
before  his  papa,  saluting  with  the  tooth-brush  sabre  in 
correct  cavalry  fashion. 

'  Viva  Papa ! '  he  bawled.     '  Viva  Papa ! ' 

Montalto,  who  rarely  smiled,  could  not  help  laughing 
now.  Maria  could  hardly  believe  her  senses,  for  she 


CHAP,  xii  MARIA  195 

had  dreaded  most  of  all  moments  the  one  in  which  the 
two  were  to  meet.  But  now  her  husband  suddenly 
looked  younger.  He  was  thin,  indeed,  to  the  verge  of 
emaciation,  his  hands  were  shrunken  and  transparent, 
his  beard  was  quite  grey,  his  eyes  were  hollow;  but 
there  wras  no  feverish  fire  in  them,  his  face  was  not- 
colourless,  and  there  wras  life  in  his  movements.  Maria 
wondered  whether  it  were  humanly  possible  that  he 
should  not  only  be  kind  to  her  child  but  should  actually 
like  him,  and  perhaps  love  him  some  day. 

At  all  events  what  had  happened  had  made  it  easier 
for  her  than  she  had  dared  to  expect,  and  though 
nothing  could  efface  the  painful  impression  of  her  meet 
ing  with  him,  what  had  now  taken  place  certainly  made 
a  great  difference. 

During  dinner  he  talked  quietly  about  Rome  and  poli 
tics  and  old  friends,  -and  if  she  saw  his  eyes  fixed  upon 
her  now  and  then  with  an  expression  that  made  her 
nervous,  there  was  still  the  broad  table  between  them, 
and  he  looked  away  almost  directly. 

Afterwards  he  smoked  Spanish  cigarettes,  taking 
them  to  pieces  and  rolling  them  again  in  thin  French 
paper,  and  he  went  on  talking ;  but  as  the  hour  advanced 
he  said  less  and  less,  and  his  cigarette  went  out  very 
often,  till  at  last  he  rose,  saying  that  it  was  late,  and 
he  kissed  her  hand  ceremoniously  and  left  her. 

'Good-night/  she  said,  just  before  he  disappeared 
through  the  door. 

He  bent  his  head  a  little  but  did  not  answer. 

An  hour  later  she  had  dismissed  her  maid  and  sat  in 


196  A    LADY    OF   ROME  PART  i 

a  small  easy- chair  in  her  boudoir  under  a  shaded  light ; 
she  was  trying  to  read,  in  the  hope  of  growing  sleepy. 
She  wore  a  thin  silk  dressing-gown,  wide  open  at  the 
throat  and  showing  a  little  simple  white  lace;  her  dark 
hair  was  taken  up  in  a  loose  knot  rather  low  down  at  the 
back  of  her  neck,  as  she  had  always  done  it  at  bedtime 
ever  since  she  had  been  a  young  girl.  Her  bare  feet 
were  half  hidden  in  a  pair  of  rather  shabby  little  grey 
velvet  slippers  without  heel  or  heel-piece,  for  the  spring 
night  was  warm.  She  was  trying  to  read. 

She  thought  some  one  knocked  softly  at  the  door; 
she  started  in  her  chair  and  dropped  the  book,  while 
her  hand  went  up  to  her  throat  to  gather  the  silk  folds 
and  hide  the  lace  underneath.  She  could  not  speak. 

Another  knock,  quite  distinct  this  time,  and  followed 
by  a  question  in  her  husband's  voice. 

1  May  I  come  in  ? ' 

An  instant's  pause,  and  she  closed  her  eyes  to  say 
two  words. 

'Come  in.' 


PART  II 

THE  COUNTESS  OF  MONTALTO 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  Romans  approved  of  Montalto's  return.  The 
reason  why  any  civilised  society  continues  to  exist 
is  that  the  majority  of  decent  people  look  upon  marriage 
seriously,  and  consider  it  as  a  permanent  bond,  spiritual 
or  legal,  or  both.  In  such  conservative  countries  as  ad 
mit  divorce,  the  respectable  part  of  society  looks  upon 
it  as  a  last  resource  in  extreme  cases,  and  no  sensible  citi 
zen  should  regard  it  as  anything  else.  When  it  has  taken 
place,  the  society  to  which  the  two  divorced  persons 
belong  decides  which  of  them  was  in  the  right,  and  that 
one  is  received  as  cordially  as  ever ;  the  other  is  treated 
coldly,  and  is  sometimes  turned  out. 

But  there  is  no  divorce  law  in  Italy,  and  a  civil  mar 
riage  is  as  indissoluble  in  the  eyes  of  the  Italian  state 
as  a  religious  one  is  under  the  rules  of  the  Catholic 
Church.  There  is  such  a  thing  as  separation  by  law, 
but  it  gives  neither  party  a  right  to  marry  again;  it 
concerns  the  administration  of  property  and  the  guar 
dianship  of  children,  but  nothing  else,  and  the  parties 
may  agree  to  unite  again  without  any  further  ceremony. 

Maria  and  her  husband  had  never  gone  through  the 
form  of  being  legally  separated,  though  they  had  taken 
towards  each  other  the  relative  positions  of  separated 
husband  and  wife.  Maria's  sufficient  independent  for- 

199 


200  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  n 

tune  enabled  her  to  decline  any  subsidy  from  Montalto, 
and  she  had  quitted  his  house  after  he  left  her ;  she  had 
also  kept  the  child.  The  two  had  voluntarily  placed 
themselves  where  the  law  would  probably  have  placed 
them,  and  society  had  been  grateful  to  Montalto  for  hav 
ing  avoided  the  open  scandal  of  any  legal  procedure 
against  his  wife;  the  more  so,  as  it  had  chosen  to  take 
Maria's  side,  on  the  principle  that  absent  friends  are 
always  in  the  wrong. 

But  society  was  very  glad  to  consider  both  Montalto 
and  his  wife  in  the  right,  now  that  he  had  come  back 
quietly,  at  the  very  end  of  a  season;  and  no  objections 
were  raised  against  the  perfectly  innocent  fiction  of  his 
having  stayed  away  from  Home  many  years  to  take  care 
of  his  mother.  It  was  a  satisfaction  to  see  such  an  im 
portant  couple  reconciled  again  and  living  peaceably 
together ;  everybody  had  something  to  repent  of  in  life, 
and  most  people  had  something  to  conceal;  Maria  had 
repented  and  Montalto  had  covered  up  the  spot  on  his 
honour,  with  as  much  tact  and  dignity  as  were  respec 
tively  consistent  with  a  stained  escutcheon  and  a  con 
trite  heart;  and  it  was  really  much  more  proper  that 
Maria  di  Montalto,  whose  husband  was  an  authentic 
Count  of  the  Empire,  should  live  in  the  great  palace, 
instead  of  in  a  little  apartment  in  the  Via  San  Martino, 
and  should  drive  in  a  big  carriage  behind  a  pair  of  huge 
black  horses,  in  the  shadow  of  tremendously  imposing 
mourning  liveries,  than  go  about  in  a  small  phaeton 
drawn  by  a  pair  of  hired  nags,  or  even  in  a  little  brougham 
with  one  horse  and  no  footman  at  all,  as  she  had  some- 


CHAP,  xm  THE    COUNTESS   OF    MONTALTO  201 

times  been  seen  to  do;  it  was  much  more  proper  and 
appropriate.  Why  should  any  one  make  a  fuss  because 
a  small  boy  called  Leone  Silani  di  Montalto  had  blue 
eyes  instead  of  brown  or  black  ones  ?  Was  it  admissible 
that  not  one  of  the  Montalto  ancestors,  since  the  First 
Crusade,  should  have  had  blue  eyes,  to  account  for 
Leone's  ?  Was  nature  to  be  allowed  no  latitude  in  such 
little  matters?  And  so  forth;  and  so  on;  and  more  to 
the  same  effect,  and  to  the  credit  of  Diego,  Maria,  and 
Leone  di  Montalto,  happily  reunited  in  their  own  home. 
These  things  were  said  without  a  smile  by  such  excellent 
elderly  people  as  the  Princess  Campodonico  and  the 
Duchess  of  Trasmondo,  the  good  and  beautiful  old  Prin 
cess  Saracinesca,  the  whole  Boccapaduli  family,  and  all 
the  secondary  social  luminaries  which  reflect  the  light 
of  the  great  fixed  ones  round  which  they  revolve.  There 
had  been  a  conspicuous  gap  at  the  banquet  of  the  Roman 
Olympians  for  years;  it  was  once  more  filled  by  those 
who  had  a  right  to  it,  and  everything  was  for  the  best 
in  the  best  of  all  possible  worlds,  as  Candide's  tutor  wras 
the  first  to  observe.  So  far  as  the  Montalto  family 
was  concerned,  the  truth  of  the  assertion  was  amply 
proved  by  the  fact  that  Montalto  himself  was  teaching 
Leone  to  ride,  in  the  Villa  Borghese.  Three  or  four  times 
a  week  you  might  meet  him  there  in  the  early  morning 
hours  on  a  wronderful  Andalusian  mare  he  had  brought 
from  Spain,  with  the  boy  at  his  side,  red  in  the  face, 
fearless,  and  perfectly  happy  on  a  pony  with  a  leading 
rein. 

Castiglione  saw  them  once  from  a  distance,  coming 


202  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  n 

towards  him,  but  he  jumped  his  horse  over  the  stiff  fence 
into  the  meadow,  crossed  quickly,  and  was  over  into  the 
ring  again  on  the  other  side  and  out  of  the  Villa  by  Port  a 
Pinciana  before  the  pair  recognised  him,  for  Montalto  was 
rather  near-sighted  and  Leone  was  so  much  interested 
in  his  lesson  that  even  the  uniform  of  the  Piedmont  Lan 
cers  no  longer  had  great  attractions  for  him.  After 
that  Castiglione  gave  up  exercising  his  horses  in  the 
Villa. 

The  fact  of  riding  a  real  animal,  that  could  move  its 
tail,  had  destroyed  in  a  day  all  Leone's  bright  illusions 
of  toy  guns  and  tin  helmets.  A  boy  who  could  ride  was 
half  a  man  already,  and  even  half  a  man  must  be  above 
the  suspicion  of  playing  with  sham  weapons.  After  his 
third  ride  in  the  Villa,  Leone  solemnly  presented  his 
whole  armoury  to  the  children  of  the  porter  downstairs, 
and  though  his  room  seemed  very  bare  for  a  day  or  two, 
he  found  consolation  in  sitting  astride  of  a  chair,  con 
scientiously  repeating  to  himself  and  practising  the  in 
structions  he  had  received  from  Montalto. 

'Toes  in!  Grip  the  saddle  with  your  knees,  not  with 
your  calves  !  Elbows  to  your  sides  !  Your  heels  down, 
in  a  line  with  your  head  and  your  shoulder !  Hold  the 
bridle  lightly,  don't  hold  on  by  it !  Head  straight,  not 
thrown  back,  nor  forward  either !  Look  before  you, 
between  the  pony's  ears ! ' 

As  he  repeated  each  well-remembered  precept  Leone 
studied  his  position  to  be  sure  that  he  was  really  obeying 
the  order.  It  was  ever  so  much  more  real,  even  on  a 
chair,  than  prancing  about  on  his  feet,  astride  of  a  stick, 


CHAP,  xiir  THE    COUNTESS    OF   MONTALTO  203 

with  a  tin  sabre,  yelling  the  Royal  March;  anil  it  was 
incomparably  more  dignified. 

Maria  came  to  his  room  one  afternoon  and  found  him 
at  his  self-imposed  exercise.  She  paused  on  the  thresh 
old,  before  he  knew  that  she  was  there,  and  she  watched 
him  with  a  rather  sad  smile.  He  was  so  tremendously 
strong  and  vital,  and  she  felt  so  subdued  and  weary ! 
It  seemed  impossible  that  he  should  be  her  child.  Yet 
hers  he  was. 

He  ordered  himself  to  sit  very  straight,  and  in  the 
pause  during  which  he  made  sure  of  having  been  very 
attentive,  he  heard  her  and  turned  his  head.  He  laughed 
a  little  shyly  at  being  caught. 

'It's  not  play,'  he  hastened  to  say.  'It's  practice. 
I  go  over  everything  papa  tells  me,  and  I  do  it  very  care 
fully.  Then  lie  says  I  learn  very  fast,  but  he  doesn't 
know  I  practise.  Of  course,  if  he  asked  me,  I'd  tell 
him.  It's  not  wrong  not  to  tell  him,  if  he  doesn't  ask 
me,  is  it,  mama  ? ' 

'No,  dear,'  Maria  answered,  and  she  bent  down  and 
kissed  the  boy's  forehead. 

'Because  I  like  to  surprise  him  by  doing  it  better 
than  he  expects,'  he  went  on.  'Then  he  smiles,  and  I 
like  him  when  he  smiles.' 

'I  think  you  always  like  him,  my  dear,'  said  his  mother. 
'Don't  you?' 

'Yes.  But  I  wasn't  going  to,  though!'  The  young 
jaw  thrust  itself  forward  viciously.  'I  thought  I  was 
going  to  hate  him  when  he  came  in  here  with  you  that 
day.  I  did!' 


204  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  n 

'You  must  try  not  to  hate  any  one/  said  Maria;  and 
again  she  kissed  his  forehead. 

'Oh,  that's  all  very  well,  mama!'  retorted  the  boy. 
'Why  do  you  always  kiss  my  forehead  now?'  he  asked 
suddenly.  'It  used  to  be  the  back  of  my  neck,  you 
know,  just  here !' 

He  laughed,  and  put  up  his  hand  behind  his  head  to 
the  spot  where  the  short  hair  was  always  trying  to  curl. 
But  Maria  had  turned  away  to  inspect  his  tooth-brush, 
as  she  often  did  after  she  had  discovered  the  use  he 
had  made  of  one  for  cleaning  his  toy  gun.  She  did  not 
answer  his  question. 

'Oh,  you  needn't  look  at  it,  mama,'  he  said,  watching 
her.  'At  least,  not  till  I  have  a  real  gun.  Besides,' 
he  added  rather  mournfully,  'I  brush  my  teeth  now.' 

'Oh  —  I'm  glad  to  hear  it !' 

'Yes,'  Leone  answered,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets. 
'You  see,  papa  does  —  so  I  suppose  I  must,  too.' 

'  But  I  always  told  you  to ! '  Maria  could  not  help 
smiling.  'Was  not  that  enough,  child?' 

'Oh,  yes,  of  course.  But  it's  different.  I  want  to  be 
like  papa.' 

Maria  had  not  been  prepared  for  this  speech,  and  the 
smile  faded  from  her  face. 

'You  could  not  do  better,'  she  said  gravely.  'He  is 
an  honest  gentleman,  if  ever  there  was  one.' 

'I'd  give  anything  to  look  like  him,  too.     But  I  sup 
pose  that's  impossible.     I'd  like  to  have  a  dark,  grave 
face,  like  his,  and  at  the  same  time  to  look  so  smart  - 
most  of  all  on  horseback.' 


CHAP,  xin  THE    COUNTESS   OF   MONTALTO  205 

'You  cannot  change  your  looks,  dear/  Maria  managed 
to  say,  and  she  pretended  to  continue  her  inspection  of 
the  room,  lest  he  should  see  her  face  just  then. 

The  world  was  very  hard  to  understand,  she  thought, 
and  later,  when  she  was  alone,  she  pondered  on  this  new 
mystery.  It  still  seemed  impossible  that  the  least  likely 
of  all  tilings  should  have  happened :  that  Leone  should 
have  developed  a  whole-hearted,  boyish  admiration  for 
Montalto  was  strange  enough,  but  that  Montalto  should 
apparently  have  taken  a  real  liking  to  Leone,  and  some 
thing  more,  was  past  her  comprehension.  It  was  almost 
too  much,  and  a  deep,  unacknowledged  feminine  instinct 
was  ready  to  rise  up  against  it,  though  all  her  conscience 
and  intelligence  told  her  that  she  should  be  grateful  to 
her  husband  for  the  large  forgiveness  he  bestowed  upon 
her  in  every  act  of  kindness  to  the  boy. 

He  had  changed  quickly  since  his  return,  and  she 
sometimes  found  it  hard  to  believe  that  he  had  come  back 
to  her  looking  like  the  wreck  of  a  man,  that  his  tears  had 
run  down  like  a  nervous  woman's,  scalding  her  hands 
till  she  had  felt  contempt  for  his  unmanly  weakness. 

Certain  people  have  what  may  be  called  dramatic 
constitutions  and  faces;  a  few  hours  of  anxiety  or  pain 
make  havoc  of  their  looks;  when  others  would  merely 
look  tired,  they  become  haggard,  their  cheeks  fall  in, 
their  eyes  grow  hollow;  in  a  fortnight  they  grow  thin 
till  they  seem  shadowy.  But  when  the  pain  is  over,  or 
the  anxiety  is  relieved,  their  normal  appearance  returns 
with  amazing  rapidity.  In  three  or  four  weeks  after 
he  had  come  home,  Montalto  was  his  old  self  again, 


206  A    LADY    OF   ROME  PART  n 

saving  his  prematurely  grey  hair  and  beard;  but  even 
they  no  longer  made  him  look  old  now  that  his  still 
young  face  had  filled  out  again  and  recovered  its  normal 
colour.  He  was  once  more  a  grave,  dark,  erect  and 
rather  handsome  man,  apparently  endowed  with  a 
strong  will  of  his  own,  and  undoubtedly  imbued  with  an 
almost  exaggerated  sense  of  his  dignity.  He  was  again 
the  husband  Maria  had  married  nine  years  ago,  and  he 
had  blotted  out  of  his  memory  all  that  had  happened 
from  then  till  now. 

He  was  almost  the  same  again;  and  so^was  Maria 
herself.  If  he  had  remained  as  much  chaS^^l  as  he 
had  seemed  to  be  at  first,  she  might  possiblylwe  de 
luded  herself  with  the  idea  that  he  was  not  really  the 
same  man,  after  all,  so  that  he  was  now  her  real  husband 
and  she  had  dreamed  all  the  rest.  But  even  such  an 
imaginary  alleviation  as  that  was  denied  her.  He  was 
only  too  really  the  same  in  all  ways ;  she  quivered  at  his 
gentlest  touch  and  writhed  under  his  loving  caress,  and 
presently  she  wondered  why  he  never  felt  that  she 
loathed  him,  even  if  he  could  not  see  it  in  her  face. 

A  villainous  idea  suggested  itself.  Perhaps  he  both 
felt  and  saw  her  repugnance;  perhaps  his  kindness  was 
all  a  cruel  comedy,  his  affection  for  Leone  a  diabolical 
deception ;  perhaps  he  was  revenging  himself  in  his  own 
way,  and  delighting  inwardly  in  the  unspeakable  suffer 
ing  he  inflicted. 

But  the  thought  was  too  unbalanced  to  sustain  itself. 
According  to  his  lights,  Maria  was  sure  that  he  was  a  good 
man.  Don  Ippolito  Saracinesca  knew  human  nature 


CHAP,  xin  THE   COUNTESS    OF   MONTALTO  207 

well,  and  could  not  have  been  deceived  for  years  in  one 
whom  he  called  his  friend.  Diego  di  Montalto  was  not 
a  monster  of  cruelty;  his  love  was  real,  his  forgiveness 
was  real,  his  liking  for  the  boy  he  might  so  naturally 
have  detested  was  real  too  —  it  was  all  awfully  real. 
God  in  heaven  would  not  have  expected  her  to  submit 
herself  body  and  mind  to  be  tormented  by  a  wicked 
man  for  the  rest  of  her  life,  in  vengeance  for  one  fault. 
No,  her  husband  was  a  good  man,  who  had  been  generous 
beyond  words;  he  had  come  home  to  take  her  back  be 
fore  the  whole  world,  defying  it  to  speak  evil  against  his 
honoured  wife,  he  had  come  home  to  be  her  husband  and 
her  child's  father.  And  when  he  touched  her  she  trem 
bled  and  felt  sick ;  but  this  was  her  just  expiation,  and 
she  must  bear  it  as  well  as  she  could,  and  hide  her  horror 
of  him  till  she  died  of  it.  Even  that  would  not  come  soon. 
She  had  not  a  dramatic  organisation  like  his,  and  she 
could  be  made  to  bear  a  great  deal  before  the  end.  She 
would  have  been  a  good  patient  for  the  tormentors  in 
older  times,  for  she  would  not  have  fainted  soon,  or  died, 
and  felt  nothing  more.  She  was  very  quiet,  a  little  sub 
dued,  and  there  was  sometimes  a  startled,  haunted  look 
in  her  eyes,  but  that  wras  all;  she  ate  enough,  she  went 
about  her  occupations,  she  wrote  letters  to  Giuliana  and 
others,  she  looked  after  Leone,  she  even  slept  as  much  as 
was  necessary,  and  people  thought  she  was  at  last  con 
tented,  if  not  happy,  with  the  rather  dull  and  formal 
husband  who  had  come  back  to  her.  They  saw,  too, 
or  believed,  that  she  and  Castiglione  were  completely 
estranged  and  hardly  spoke  when  they  happened  to  meet 


208  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  n 

anywhere;  but  even  such  meetings  were  of  very  rare 
occurrence,  because  she  and  her  husband  were  in  such 
deep  mourning. 

The  summer  came,  and  they  went  northwards  in  a 
comfortable  motor  car.  They  stopped  on  their  way  to 
make  short  visits  to  more  or  less  distant  relations  who 
were  already  at  their  country  places;  they  spent  a  fort 
night  by  the  seaside,  near  Genoa,  a  day  or  two  in  Milan, 
a  hot  week  in  Venice  near  the  end  of  July ;  and  so  they 
came  by  easy  stages  to  Montalto,  with  its  solemn  towers, 
its  deep  woods  and  its  waterfalls,  its  fertile  valley,  its 
rich  farms  and  its  thriving  village ;  and  there  they  stayed 
through  the  rest  of  the  summer  and  into  the  early 
autumn. 

Leone  rode  with  Montalto  every  day,  and  by  and  by 
he  was  taught  to  hold  a  real  gun  in  the  right  way,  and 
then  to  shoot;  and  at  last  Montalto  took  him  out  one 
day  and  he  fired  his  first  shot  at  a  pheasant  and  missed, 
but  he  killed  a  bird  the  second  time,  and  was  the  happiest 
boy  in  the  world  for  the  rest  of  that  day.  Through  all 
those  months  Montalto  himself  gained  strength  daily 
and  recovered  more  and  more  of  the  comparative  youth- 
fulness  which  remains  to  a  man  not  forty;  and  Maria 
changed  little,  if  at  all,  though  Leone  thought  the  white 
patch  near  her  left  temple  was  growing  larger. 

Also,  in  those  quiet  days,  the  boy  and  the  man  became 
more  and  more  closely  attached  to  each  other.  Montalto 
took  more  real  interest  in  teaching  Leone  to  ride  and  shoot 
than  he  had  ever  shown  in  anything ;  and  Leone  was  more 
entirely  persuaded  that  Montalto  was  his  ideal,  though  he 


CHAP,  xiii  THE    COUNTESS    OF   MONTALTO  209 

still  declared  that  he  himself  would  be  a  soldier  and 
nothing  else. 

During  this  time  Maria  frequently  saw  Orlando 
Schmidt,  the  steward.  She  had  not  seen  him  in  Home 
after  her  husband  had  arrived,  and  when  she  noticed  the 
latter 's  reserved  tone  in  speaking  of  him,  she  had  not  men 
tioned  him  again  and  had  soon  forgotten  his  existence. 
There  was  no  special  reason  why  she  should  think  of  him 
at  all,  though  she  had  found  him  very  efficient  and  ready 
to  serve  her. 

But  now  he  appeared  again,  and  as  a  personage  of  con 
siderable  importance,  who  came  to  her  husband's  study 
almost  every  day  on  matters  connected  with  the  estate- 
She  met  him  the  first  time  when  she  was  alone  in  the  great 
avenue  that  led  from  the  park  gate  to  the  castle.  He 
lived  in  a  small  house  just  outside  the  village  at  the 
foot  of  the  hill,  and  he  usually  walked  up  by  the 
avenue. 

He  bowed  ceremoniously  to  the  Countess  from  a  con 
siderable  distance,  and  carried  his  hat  in  his  hand  as  he 
came  nearer.  He  blushed  a  little  when  she  bent  her 
head  at  last  and  said  good-morning  in  passing ;  and  as  she 
did  not  stop  to  say  more,  he  went  on.  He  turned  after 
he  had  gone  on  a  few  steps  and  looked  after  her,  being 
quite  sure  that  she  would  not  do  the  same.  Why  should 
the  Countess  of  Montalto  condescend  to  look  round  at 
such  a  humble  person  as  Orlando  Schmidt?  So  he 
walked  slowly  and  turned  again  and  again  to  watch  the 
graceful  figure  that  was  slowly  gliding  into  the  distance 
under  the  shade  of  the  ancient  elms.  When  he  could  no 


210  A   LADY   OF    ROME  PART  n 

longer  see  her  distinctly  he  glanced  at  his  watch  and  went 
on  his  way  quickly. 

Two  days  later  Maria  met  him  almost  in  the  same  place, 
and  at  almost  the  same  hour  in  the  morning ;  which  was 
natural  enough,  for  she  had  dropped  into  the  dull  punc 
tuality  in  doing  unimportant  things  at  regular  times 
which  is  the  foundation  of  a  woman's  life  in  a  country 
house  where  there  are  no  visitors ;  and  as  it  was  Schmidt's 
business  to  be  exact  about  his  duties,  there  was  really 
no  reason  why  she  should  not  pass  him  in  the  same  place 
and  nearly  at  the  same  moment,  on  every  fine  day. 

This  time  Schmidt  stood  still  at  a  short  distance,  as 
if  he  wished  to  say  something,  and  when  Maria  stopped, 
he  inquired  if  he  could  be  of  service  to  her  in  any  way. 
She  was  a  little  surprised  at  the  question. 

He  meant  to  ask,  he  said,  whether  she  had  any  wishes 
with  regard  to  the  grounds  or  the  garden.  The  Count, 
he  explained,  took  no  interest  in  those  matters,  but  would 
be  much  pleased  if  her  Excellency  would  give  them  some 
attention.  He,  Schmidt,  had  done  his  best  to  keep  up 
the  place  since  he  had  been  in  charge  of  it,  but  he  was  only 
too  conscious  that  he  knew  nothing  of  landscape  garden 
ing  and  very  little  about  flowers.  Maria  said  quietly 
that  she  understood  neither,  though  she  knew  what  she 
liked. 

Thereupon  Schmidt  observed  that  a  quantity  of  hand 
some  stone-work  of  the  fifteenth  century  was  lying  piled 
up  in  the  kitchen  court,  and  he  thought  it  must  have 
been  put  there  about  a  hundred  and  twenty  or  thirty 
years  ago,  when  a  Countess  of  Montalto  had  thought  it 


CHAP,  xin  THE    COUNTESS    OF    MONTALTO  211 

would  be  an  improvement  to  destroy  the  beautiful 
mediaeval  close  garden  in  the  course  of  constructing  a 
miniature  Versailles  which  had  never  been  finished.  He, 
Schmidt,  would  take  pleasure  in  showing  the  stone-work 
to  her  Excellency  if  she  would  take  the  trouble  to  look 
at  it.  He  had  also  found  an  old  plan  of  the  former 
garden  amongst  the  papers  of  his  own  great-grandfather, 
who  had  been  steward  of  Montalto  from  1760  to  1800. 
At  a  small  cost  the  really  beautiful  mediaeval  well  and 
cloistered  walk  could  be  reconstructed,  and  he  ventured 
to  suggest  that  they  would  be  more  in  keeping  with  the 
whole  place  than  a  wretched  little  imitation  of  Lenotre's 
vast  work. 

Maria  thought  so,  too,  and  after  saying  that  she  would 
ask  her  husband  about  it,  she  nodded  kindly  to  the 
thoughtful  young  man  and  continued  her  walk. 

In  the  evening,  when  Montalto  had  told  her  the  politi 
cal  news  he  had  read  before  dinner,  and  had  opened  a 
third  Havana  cigarette  to  roll  it  over  again  in  French 
paper,  Maria  told  him  what  Schmidt  had  said.  Montalto 
was  naturally  as  punctual  in  all  his  little  ways  as  his 
wife  was  rapidly  becoming  by  acquired  habit.  The  post 
came  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  he  always  spent  half  an 
hour  in  reading  the  newspapers  before  he  dressed  for 
dinner.  Just  as  invariably,  too,  he  told  his  wife  what 
he  had  read,  and  he  almost  always  reached  the  end  of 
his  budget  of  intelligence  just  as  he  began  to  make  his 
third  cigarette.  Maria  did  not  always  listen  to  what  he 
was  telling  her,  but  the  third  cigarette  was  a  landmark 
in  the  long  dull  evening,  and  when  it  was  reached  she 


212  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  u 

knew  that  Montalto  expected  her  to  make  a  little  con 
versation  in  return  for  his  carefully  repeated  news. 
On  this  particular  occasion  she  was  glad  to  have  some 
thing  to  say,  and  at  once  asked  him  about  the  old 
garden. 

To  her  surprise  Montalto  did  not  give  her  any  answer 
at  once,  and  she  waited  for  his  reply,  watching  the 
motion  of  his  well-made  fingers,  of  which  the  first  two 
were  stained  a  deep  yellowish  brown  from  smoking  cigar 
ettes.  They  rolled  the  cigarette  slowly,  but  very  neatly. 

'Yes/  Montalto  said  after  a  long  time,  when  he  had 
got  a  light  and  was  leaning  back  in  his  chair.  'Yes/ 
he  repeated,  in  a  tone  of  profound  meditation.  'Yes, 
by  all  means,  if  it  amuses  you,  my  dear.' 

'  Then  you  think  Schmidt  is  right  about  the  old  things  ? ' 
said  Maria  with  a  renewed  interrogation  in  her  tone. 

Another  pause,  and  several  small  puffs  of  smoke. 

'Maria/  Montalto  began,  as  if  he  had  reached  a  con 
clusion,  'you  are  not  what  people  call  a  highly  accom 
plished  woman,  but  you  have  a  great  deal  of  sense.' 

The  Countess  wondered  wiiat  was  coming,  and  an 
swered  by  a  preliminary  and  deprecating  smile.  Mont 
alto  often  told  her  that  in  his  opinion  she  was  the  most 
beautiful  creature  in  the  world;  after  such  nonsense  it 
was  a  relief  to  be  called  a  sensible  woman.  She  might  not 
be  even  that,  but  at  all  events  the  statement  was  not 
likely  to  lead  to  one  of  those  outbreaks  of  his  passion  for 
her  which  she  dreaded. 

'Maria/  he  said,  as  if  he  were  beginning  over  again, 
'I  have  great  confidence  in  your  judgment.' 


CHAP,  xin  THE    COUNTESS    OF   MONTALTO  213 

'But  I  know  nothing  about  gardening  or  mediaeval 
wells/  she  protested. 

'Possibly  not,  though  you  know  vastly  more  about 
both  than  I  do.  I  was  brought  up  under  the  influence 
of  the  Spanish  taste  of  the  eighteenth  century,  and  I 
like  it.  Ippolito  Saracinesca  says  it  is  atrocious,  and 
of  course  he  knows.  But  I  like  it,  nevertheless.' 

'At  least,  you  have  the  courage  of  your  opinion/ 
said  Maria,  still  completely  in  the  dark,  but  feeling  that 
she  must  say  something. 

'That  does  not  matter,  for  it  is  not  the  question/ 
returned  her  husband.  '  We  neither  of  us  know  anything 
about  architecture,  I  am  sure.  But  I  shall  be  glad  if 
you  will  go  into  this  question  with  Schmidt,  and  then 
give  me  an  opinion.' 

'It  will  be  worthless.' 

'Not  your  opinion  of  the  garden,  my  dear,  but  your 
opinion  of  Schmidt.' 

'  Oh  ! '  Maria  was  very  much  surprised.  '  But  why  ? 
I  told  you  in  Rome  that  I  thought  him  an  excellent 
person  and  very  intelligent ! ' 

'  Did  it  ever  occur  to  you  that  he  might  be  too  intel 
ligent?' 

'No.  But  perhaps  I  don't  understand  just  what  you 
mean.  Do  you  think  he  is  educated  above  his  station  ? 
Too  good  for  his  place  ? ' 

'Not  at  all.  But  sometimes,  in  money  dealings  and 
positions  of  trust,  a  man  may  be  too  clever.  That  is 
what  I  mean.' 

'You    mean  that  you  don't   quite  trust   him/   said 


214  A   LADY    OF   ROME  PART  n 

Maria,  'and  you  wish  me  to  form  a  judgment  of 
him.' 

'I  want  your  opinion/  answered  Montalto,  who  was 
at  odds  with  his  over-sensitive  conscience.  'I  should 
be  very  unjust  to  Schmidt  if  I  were  to  say  that  he  may 
not  be  quite  honest.  It  would  be  very  wrong  to  assume 
such  a  thing  of  any  one,  would  it  not  ? ' 

'If  you  had  no  grounds  for  suspicion,  yes.  But  even 
an  instinctive  distrust  of  a  man  of  business  is  enough 
reason  for  not  giving  him  the  entire  control  of  a  large 
estate.' 

'  Do  you  really  think  so,  my  dear  ?  You  see,  the  men 
of  his  family  have  been  our  stewards  for  some  little 
time.' 

*  He  told  me  they  had  served  you  two  hundred  years.' 

*  Yes,  yes  —  for  some  time,  as  you  say,  and  I  have 
always  understood  that  they  were  honest  people.' 

He  was  so  excessively  scrupulous  that  Maria  guessed 
he  must  have  some  serious  ground  for  his  slight  suspicion 
of  the  man  he  was  trusting.  The  question  began  to  in 
terest  her,  if  only  as  a  study  of  her  husband's  character. 

'Really,  Diego,'  she  said,  'if  you  wish  me  to  form  any 
reasonable  judgment  you  must  tell  me  something  more 
than  this.  What  has  the  man  done  to  make  you  doubt 
him?' 

Montalto  looked  at  his  wife  thoughtfully  before  he 
answered. 

'I  will  tell  you,  but  you  must  not  repeat  the  story  to 
any  one,  please.' 

'Certainly  not.' 


CHAP,  xm  THE    COUNTESS    OF    MONTALTO  215 

'  He  once  got  into  some  scrape,  four  or  five  years  ago, 
and  he  took  a  small  sum  of  money  to  help  himself  out 
of  trouble.' 

'  Oh ! '  For  the  second  time  Maria  was  surprised. 
'But  that  is  called - 

'He  confessed  it  to  me/  Montalto  hastened  to  say  be 
fore  Maria  could  finish  her  sentence.  '  He  threw  himself 
upon  my  mercy  by  a  voluntary  confession,  promising 
to  make  up  the  sum  as  soon  as  he  could.  I  thought  the 
matter  over  for  two  days  and  then  I  forgave  him.5 

'That  was  like  you/  Maria  said  gently. 

Had  he  not  forgiven  her  a  far  greater  debt  ? 

'It  was  only  just/  Montalto  answered.  'I  meant 
never  to  think  of  the  matter  again  unless  he  repeated  the 
offence.' 

'  Has  he  done  anything  of  the  kind  since  then  ? ' 

'No.' 

'But  you  think  he  might.' 

'N  —  no.  But  he  could  if  he  wished  to,  and  I  don't 
think  I  should  ever  know  it ! ' 

'  What  do  you  mean  ? ' 

'My  dear,  he  paid  back  the  money  very  soon;  so  soon 
that  I  was  surprised.  Then  I  sent  him  to  Spain  on  an 
errand,  and  while  he  was  away  I  got  a  confidential  ac 
countant  here  and  we  examined  his  books  very  care 
fully.' 

'Well?' 

'It  was  impossible  to  find  any  trace  of  what  he  had 
done.  Unless  a  man  has  actually  taken  money  dishon 
estly,  he  does  not  confess  and  pay  it  back.  But  there 


216  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  n 

is  something  very  strange  about  the  matter  if  you  cannot 
find  some  proof  of  his  own  confession  in  his  own  accounts.' 

'Was  it  much  ?'   asked  Maria. 

'Only  five  thousand  francs.  But  in  that  year  the 
books  showed  no  change  in  the  rent-roll  of  the  estate  - 
he  might  have  made  out  that  the  rents  had  fallen,  so  as 
to  pocket  the  difference,  you  understand.  On  the  con 
trary,  it  was  a  good  year,  and  the  tenants  paid  punc 
tually;  and  there  were  the  banker's  receipts  for  the 
corresponding  deposits,  exact  to  a  fraction.  Five 
thousand  is  not  a  large  sum,  but  it  is  a  very  noticeable 
one  in  a  matter  of  business.' 

'  I  should  think  so ! '  assented  Maria,  thinking 
of  the  limited  income  on  which  she  had  lived  for  years, 
and  in  which  a  deficit  of  five  thousand  francs  would  have 
been  a  serious  matter. 

'It  is  very  strange  that  a  man  whose  business  it  is  to 
detect  frauds  in  accounts  should  not  be  able  to  find  a 
trace  of  one  that  has  been  confessed  by  its  author,  is  it 
not?' 

'Very!' 

'That  is  my  reason  for  saying  that  Schmidt  may  be 
too  intelligent.  I  hope  I  am  not  doing  him  an  injustice 
in  saying  so.  That  is  the  reason  why  I  want  your  opin 
ion  about  him.  I  really  could  not  ask  him  how  he  did  it, 
after  forgiving  him,  and  it  would  have  been  still  more 
unjust  to  reveal  his  secret  by  asking  my  banker  to  com 
pare  the  receipts  purporting  to  come  from  him  with  his 
own  books.  I  had  forgiven  him  freely;  I  could  not 
accuse  him  to  another  man  of  having  done  what  he  had 


CHAP,  xin  THE    COUNTESS    OF    MONTALTO  217 

voluntarily  confessed.  It  would  not  have  been  hon 
ourable,  for  my  banker  would  have  known  at  once  that 
I  distrusted  my  steward  and  suspected  him  of  forging 
banker's  receipts.' 

'Yes.     I  see.' 

'Precisely.  But  the  most  honourable  man  in  the 
world  may  confide  matters  to  his  wife  which  it  would  be 
base  in  him  to  lay  before  any  one  else.' 

'Except  a  confessor/  Maria  said;  but  she  was  not 
thinking  of  Schmidt. 

'My  confessor  was  not  a  man  of  any  business  capacity/ 
answered  Montalto  without  a  smile.  'Nor  is  my  friend 
Ippolito  Saracinesca  either;  and  I  would  certainly  not 
consult  any  one  else  except  my  wife.' 

'Thank  you.' 

He  had  taken  a  long  time  to  tell  his  story  about  the 
poor  steward,  hampered  as  he  was  at  every  step  by  a 
conscientious  fear  of  injuring  the  man.  What  Maria 
saw  was  that  he  had  been  unboundedly  generous  to 
Schmidt,  as  he  had  been  to  her  in  a  matter  much  nearer 
to  life  and  death ;  and  by  a  sort  of  unconscious  analogical 
reasoning  she  felt,  rather  than  concluded,  that  the 
steward  must  be  as  grateful  as  she  was,  and  as  resolved 
to  be  faithful  at  any  cost.  Moreover,  he  had  made  a 
favourable  impression  on  her  from  the  first ;  and  though 
she  was  a  little  shocked  at  what  she  now  learned  about 
him,  her  ultimate  verdict  as  to  his  present  honesty  was 
a  foregone  judgment. 

After  this  long  talk  with  Montalto  she  saw  Schmidt 
often.     He  showed  her  the  old  plans,  the  position  of  the 


218  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  n 

former  garden,  and  the  fragments  of  the  well  and  the 
cloistered  walk,  and  after  much  consultation  with  her  hus 
band  and  several  evenings  spent  in  the  study  of  Yiollet- 
le-Duc,  they  determined  that  the  old  construction  should 
be  restored  as  far  as  possible,  a  conclusion  which  has  no 
bearing  upon  this  story  beyond  the  fact  that  it  was  the 
means  of  bringing  Maria  and  the  steward  together  almost 
daily,  and  that  the  execution  of  the  work  and  his  careful 
economy  in  the  whole  affair  raised  him  in  the  Countess's 
estimation ;  or  rather,  they  confirmed  that  preconceived 
good  opinion  of  him  which  she  had  formed  in  the  begin 
ning,  and  on  which  such  grave  matters  afterwards 
turned. 

Before  they  left  Montalto  her  husband  inquired  as  to 
the  result  of  her  observation  of  the  man. 

'I  cannot  help  believing  that  he  is  now  perfectly 
honest  and  devoted  to  your  interests/  she  said.  'That 
is  the  impression  he  makes  on  me,  and  I  do  not  think  it 
will  change.' 

'Then  I  shall  take  him  to  Rome/  Montalto  answered 
without  hesitation.  'Our  property  there  is  in  a  dis 
graceful  state  and  is  not  yielding  much  more  than  the 
half  of  what  it  should.  Schmidt  is  the  only  man  I  have 
under  my  hand  who  can  set  matters  right,  and  he  shall 
go  to  work  at  once.' 

'I  agree  with  you/  Maria  said  quietly.  'I  thought 
so  last  spring  when  I  first  saw  him.' 

The  life  at  Montalto  went  on  a  little  longer  after  that, 
and  the  work  on  the  garden  made  it  a  little  less  monot 
onous.  Not  that  Maria  disliked  that  side  of  it.  Since 


CHAP,  xin  THE    COUNTESS    OF   MONTALTO  219 

she  was  to  live  her  married  life  again,  it  was  a  little 
easier  to  live  it  in  that  deep  retirement,  where  she  could 
so  often  be  left  to  herself  for  half  the  day  while  Montalto 
and  Leone  were  out  shooting,  or  riding,  or  visiting  some 
distant  part  of  the  estate.  To  be  alone  as  much  as  pos 
sible  was  her  chief  aim  in  the  arrangement  of  her  day. 
There  had  been  a  time  when  she  had  been  happy  to 
have  Leone  always  by  her  side;  but  now  he  talked  to  her 
so  incessantly  of  her  husband  and  of  what  they  had  done 
and  were  going  to  do  together,  that  she  often  wished  he 
would  be  silent  or  go  away. 

The  time  had  come  when  the  boy  began  to  turn  to  the 
man  for  what  he  wanted,  even  more  readily  than  to  his 
mother;  and  there  is  nothing  quite  like  a  mother's 
loneliness  of  heart  when  she  sees  that  she  can  no  longer 
compete  with  the  manly  influence  in  amusing  and  in 
teresting  her  only  boy.  How  can  pretty  stories  and 
sugar-plums  stand  against  horse,  and  dog,  and  gun,  and 
a  day's  sport  ?  And  what  is  motherly  love  to  a  healthy 
boy,  compared  with  the  qualities  of  a  father  who  can 
give  him  such  things  and  share  in  his  enjoyment  of  them  ? 
Also,  the  smaller  the  boy  the  greater  his  delight  in  any 
grown-up  sport,  and  Leone  had  begun  to  ride  and  shoot 
at  an  age  when  most  Roman  boys  are  scarcely  out  of  the 
nursery.  It  is  true  that  he  looked  two  or  three  years 
older  than  his  age,  and  had  fought  with  boys  bigger  than 
himself,  like  Mario  Campodonico,  and  had  'hammered' 
them,  as  he  called  it. 

This  was  the  situation  between  Montalto,  his  wife  and 
the  boy,  when  they  all  came  back  to  Rome  towards  the 


220  A    LADY    OF   ROME  PART  n 

end  of  October;  and  Orlando  Schmidt  went  before 
them  to  see  that  everything  was  ready  and  to  take  the 
place  of  the  old  steward,  who  had  at  last  died,  leaving 
the  estate  in  a  confusion  worthy  of  his  well-meaning 
stupidity.  Schmidt  was  to  set  matters  right,  and  find 
a  proper  man  to  manage  the  Roman  lands  under  his 
general  direction,  while  he  himself  administered  the 
Montalto  estate  as  heretofore.  He  had,  in  fact,  been 
promoted  to  be  the  agent  for  all  the  property  owned  by 
the  Count  in  Italy. 

In  October,  too,  six  months  after  the  Dowager  Count 
ess's  death,  Maria  and  her  husband  put  on  half  mourn 
ing,  according  to  the  strict  rule  that  prevails  in  Rome 
in  those  matters;  and  though  they  would  not  go  to  balls 
and  big  dinners  yet,  they  were  permitted  to  see  something 
of  their  friends  —  and  even  of  their  acquaintances. 

That  was  really  the  end  of  the  quiet  life  they  had  led 
together  for  five  months.  Maria  was  to  go  back,  take 
her  place  in  society  as  a  Roman  lady,  and  be  a  great 
personage  once  more  in  that  old-fashioned,  ceremonious 
life  which  has  survived  in  scarcely  any  other  city  in  the 
world,  and  is  fast  disappearing  in  Rome  itself. 

So  far  had  Maria  dragged  herself  on  the  thorny  path 
of  her  expiation  without  much  help  from  without,  and 
with  little  hope  within. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

MONSIEUR  JULES  DE  MAURIENNE  gambled,  and,  like 
most  rich  men  who  do,  he  generally  won  more  than  he 
lost.  He  did  not  gamble  for  the  sake  of  winning  money, 
however,  for  he  was  a  gentleman  and  avarice  was  not 
among  his  faults,  though  he  was  not  extravagant  in  his 
way  of  living,  and  knew  very  nearly  to  a  penny  what  he 
spent  from  month  to  month.  What  he  enjoyed  was  the 
excitement  of  fearing  that  he  was  going  to  lose,  as  he 
occasionally  did,  though  with  no  serious  damage  to  his 
fortune.  Some  people  do  daring  things  when  there  is  a 
good  reason  for  doing  them,  and  they  are  like  cats  at 
bay;  others  are  incapable  of  physical  fear  and  never 
believe  in  danger,  and  they  are  likely  healthy  puppies; 
but  one  meets  men  now  and  then  who  fully  realise  every 
risk,  and  take  a  real  pleasure  in  trying  how  far  they  can 
go  without  breaking  their  necks.  None  of  the  lower 
animals  will  do  this;  it  is  a  characteristic  of  the  born 
gambler. 

De  Maurienne  did  not  play  much  in  drawing-rooms  or 
at  the  clubs.  The  stakes  were  rarely  high  enough  to 
give  him  an  emotion,  and  the  sensation  of  winning  much 
from  friends  who  could  not  always  afford  to  lose  made 
him  uncomfortable.  He  therefore  frequented  one  of 
those  quiet  little  establishments  in  the  neighbourhood 

221 


222  A   LADY    OF    ROME  PART  n 

of  the  Piazza  <li  Spagna  where  baccara,  roulette,  and 
rouge  et  noir  go  on  from  three  in  the  afternoon  till  three 
in  the  morning,  or  later.  He  was  far  too  refined  in  his 
taste  for  pleasure  to  waste  a  whole  evening  at  such  a 
place,  and  he  frequented  it  at  odd  moments  late  in  the 
afternoon.  A  man  is  rarely  missed  at  that  hour,  and  if 
he  occasionally  finds  an  acquaintance  in  a  gambling  den, 
the  encounter  is  not  mentioned  afterwards,  any  more 
than  those  who  meet  there  would  think  of  calling  each 
other  by  their  names.  For  the  society  in  the  haunts  of 
vice  is  extremely  mixed,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  though 
the  owners  of  the  establishments  take  infinite  trouble 
to  make  it  select. 

Teresa  Crescenzi  had  not  succeeded  in  marrying  de 
Maurienne  during  the  summer,  though  they  had  gone 
together  all  the  way  from  Rome  to  Paris  in  his  big  motor 
car,  and  nobody  happened  to  remember  who  had  made 
up  the  party.  On  some  points  the  Italians  and  the 
French  never  seem  to  understand  each  other.  Monsieur 
de  Maurienne  appeared  to  think  it  quite  unnecessary  to 
marry  Donna  Teresa  Crescenzi,  whereas  she  was  equally 
convinced  that  marriage  was  indispensable.  With  the 
arguments  and  stratagems  used  on  each  side  this  story 
is  not  concerned ;  it  is  a  cowardly  thing  to  spy  upon  a 
lady's  secret  doings,  and  the  novelist  should  sometimes 
imitate  Falstaff  in  judging  discretion  to  be  the  better 
part  of  valour.  Fie  may,  however,  remind  his  forgetful 
readers  that  when  Teresa  met  Maria  Montalto  in  a  quiet 
street  and  said  that  she  had  been  to  confession,  she  was 
wilfully  misstating  a  fact. 


CHAP,  xiv  THE    COUNTESS    OF    MONTALTO  223 

It  came  to  pass,  towards  Christmas,  that  she  noticed 
how  often  her  friend  disappeared  late  in  the  afternoon. 
It  is  easier  and  more  amusing  to  make  a  long  story  short 
than  to  make  a  short  story  long.  Here,  therefore,  are 
the  facts  in  the  case.  She  expected  to  meet  de  Maurienne 
somewhere  at  tea,  but  he  did  not  come;  the  next  time 
she  saw  him  she  asked  where  he  had  been,  and  he  named 
the  house  of  another  friend.  Tactful  inquiry  soon  as 
certained  that  he  had  not  been  there  either.  The  same 
thing  happened  three  times  within  ten  days,  and  Teresa 
made  up  her  mind  that  there  wTas  another  woman  in  the 
case.  Being  anxious  not  to  lose  time,  which,  at  her  age, 
still  had  some  value,  and  having  no  scruples  of  any 
sort,  she  employed  a  private  detective,  who  ran  the 
truant  de  Maurienne  to  earth  on  the  third  day  at  the  doer 
of  a  gambling  den  in  Via  Belsiana.  It  is  odd  that  all 
detectives  should  know  just  where  such  wicked  places 
are,  whereas  the  police  can  hardly  ever  find  them.  Vv'hy 
do  the  police  not  employ  the  detectives,  as  other  people 
do?  But  these  things  are  a  mystery. 

Teresa  was  so  much  relieved  that  she  gave  her  inform 
ant  a  handsome  present ;  for,  like  many  people  who  have 
nothing,  she  often  gave  lavishly;  and  having  noted  the 
address  of  the  gambling  establishment  and  the  hour  at 
which  de  Maurienne  had  twice  been  seen  entering  it,  she 
completed  the  detective's  work  by  watching  the  door 
herself.  With  a  veil  and  a  quiet-looking  frock  she  could 
walk  in  the  almost  deserted  street  without  attracting 
attention,  and  her  bearing  was  not  calculated  to  invite 
enterprise  on  the  part  of  any  stray  dandy  who  might 


224  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  n 

pass  that  way.  Indeed,  only  one  man  made  the  mistake 
of  speaking  to  her. 

She  only  wanted  to  be  sure  that  de  Maurienne  really 
went  to  that  house  on  the  days  when  he  could  not  be 
found  anywhere  else;  when  she  was  certain  of  this  her 
jealousy  sank  peacefully  to  rest.  She  knew  that  lie 
would  never  ruin  himself.  As  for  the  likelihood  of  being 
recognised  by  him,  she  was  indifferent  to  that.  She 
would  have  told  him  that  she  had  been  to  confession,  and 
would  have  asked  him  to  find  her  a  cab. 

But  in  the  course  of  several  half-hours  spent  in  this  way 
in  Via  Belsiana,  about  dusk,  she  saw  a  surprising  num 
ber  of  men  enter  the  modest  door,  and  now  and  then  she 
recognised  an  acquaintance.  She  also  sawr  a  few  come 
out,  who  must  have  gone  there  early  in  the  afternoon. 
It  was  one  of  these  who  made  the  mistake  of  speaking 
to  her  as  he  met  her,  half  a  dozen  steps  from  the  thresh 
old.  She  held  her  head  in  the  air  and  quickened  her 
pace,  and  he  did  not  try  to  follow  her ;  but  she  had  seen 
his  face  clearly,  and  remembered  it  afterwards,  and 
thought  he  must  have  been  a  foreigner,  for  he  was  fair, 
with  a  fresh  complexion,  and  wore  grey  clothes  that  had 
not  an  Italian  look. 

She  made  her  annual  round  of  visits  before  Christmas, 
as  Romans  generally  do,  and,  like  a  sensible  woman, 
she  did  not  merely  leave  cards  everywhere  without  so 
much  as  asking  whether  people  were  in ;  on  the  contrary, 
she  was  conscientious,  and  tried  to  find  them  at  home. 

It  was  quite  natural  that  she  should  call  on  the  Countess 
of  Mont  alto,  but  when  she  did,  she  was  told  that  Maria 


CHAP,  xiv  THE    COUNTESS    OF    MONTALTO  225 

was  out.  This  might  happen  to  anybody,  of  course,  so 
she  wrote  a  line  on  her  card  to  say  that  she  would  come 
again  very  soon,  and  drove  away.  Two  days  later  she 
asked  for  Maria  again.  Her  Excellency  was  out.  This 
also  might  happen,  with  no  intention.  Three  days  after 
that  she  stopped  a  third  time  at  the  entrance  of  the 
palace.  The  tall  porter  lifted  his  black  cocked  hat  with 
imperturbable  serenity  and  respect.  Her  Excellency 
was  not  at  home. 

Then  Teresa  began  to  suspect  something,  and  took  a 
card  with  the  intention  of  writing  a  few  words  to  ask 
when  Maria  would  see  her ;  and  while  she  was  hesitating 
about  the  phrase,  which  the  porter  would  certainly  read 
before  sending  it  upstairs,  she  sat  in  her  little  hired 
phaeton  and  unconsciously  looked  in  under  the  great 
archway,  past  the  porter,  who  was  waiting  at  her  elbow. 
Just  at  that  moment  she  saw  a  man  corning  towards  her 
from  within,  a  fair  man  with  a  fresh  complexion,  dressed 
in  grey.  He  glanced  at  her  and  lifted  his  hat  a  little, 
and  the  porter  moved  to  let  him  pass,  because  the  car 
riage  was  very  near  the  pillars  that  stood  on  each  side 
of  the  entrance.  Teresa  wTas  not  above  asking  questions 
of  a  servant  when  she  was  curious. 

'Who  was  that?'  she  inquired,  looking  down  and 
beginning  to  write  on  her  card  while  she  spoke.  'I 
know  his  face,  but  I  cannot  remember  his  name.7 

'He  is  the  steward  of  Montalto,  Excellency,  Signer 
Schmidt.' 

'  Of  course ! '  exclaimed  Teresa  as  if  she  now  renum 
bered  perfectly. 


226  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  n 

She  finished  writing,  gave  the  porter  the  card,  and 
drove  away,  meditating  on  the  fact  that  the  steward  of 
Montalto  frequented  a  gambling  den  in  Via  Bclsiana 
and  spoke  to  ladies  in  the  street.  It  also  annoyed  her 
to  think  that  Monsieur  de  Maurienne  had  doubtless  often 
played  at  the  same  table  with  such  people,  and  had  pos 
sibly  won  money  from  Signor  Schmidt.  Teresa  was  more 
sensitive  on  some  points  than  on  others. 

Maria  did  not  answer  her  written  message.  On  the 
second  day  Teresa  received  a  note  in  a  large,  stiff  hand 
writing,  unfamiliar  to  her. 

Montalto  had  written  himself,  in  very  cold  and  formal 
terms,  to  request  her  not  to  put  herself  to  the  inconven 
ience  of  asking  for  the  Countess  again. 

Nothing  could  have  been  plainer,  and  Teresa  flushed 
angrily. 

'That  is  what  one  gets  for  defending  one's  friends!' 
she  cried,  in  a  rage. 

But  she  remembered  quite  well  that  in  her  anxiety 
to  defend  Maria  she  had  said  a  number  of  extremely  dis 
agreeable  things  about  Montalto's  mother,  which  were 
also  quite  untrue.  Some  careful  relation  had  doubtless 
repeated  her  observations  to  him,  and  now  he  refused  to 
let  her  enter  his  house.  She  wondered  rather  flippantly 
what  would  happen  if  everything  she  had  said  in  her  life 
were  repeated  to  the  wrong  people,  and  the  idea  was  so 
amusing  that  she  laughed  at  it.  But  she  bore  Montalto 
a  lasting  grudge  from  that  day,  and  it  pleased  her  to  re 
flect  that  his  steward  spent  spare  hours  in  a  gambling 
den  and  would  probably  rob  him  in  the  end.  She  would 


CHAP.    XIV 


THE    COUNTESS    OF    MONTALTO  227 


take  great  care  to  keep  the  secret,  lest  some  one  should 
warn  him  in  time,  but  she  would  also  do  her  best  to 
meet  Maria  in  some  friend's  house,  and  would  tell  her 
what  she  thought  of  her  behaviour.  She  felt  the  hu 
miliation  of  having  had  her  name  sent  down  to  the  por 
ter's  lodge  as  that  of  a  person  for  whom  the  Countess  was 
never  at  home.  Such  a  thing  had  never  happened  to 
her  before. 

She  was  Maria's  enemy  now,  as  she  had  once  been  her 
defender,  when  it  had  suited  her  to  take  the  side  of 
frailty,  which  may  bend  without  being  quite  broken, 
against  that  columnar  social  virtue  which  may  possibly 
break  but  never  bends  at  all.  Teresa's  enmity  was  not 
likely  to  be  very  dangerous,  however,  for  she  was,  on  the 
whole,  a  good-natured  gossip,  and  might  at  any  time  be 
in  need  of  a  good  word  for  herself  in  the  dangerous  game 
she  was  playing. 

She  reflected  with  rather  unnecessary  bitterness  on 
her  position  as  a  defenceless  widow,  and  felt  quite  sure 
that  if  she  were  Madame  de  Maurienne,  Montalto  would 
not  have  the  courage  to  insult  her  husband  by  refusing 
to  receive  her. 


CHAPTER  XV 

CASTIGLIONE  had  a  sort  of  rule  for  avoiding  Maria  which 
worked  very  well  for  a  long  time.  There  is  a  great  same 
ness  in  the  lives  of  Roman  ladies  even  now,  and  in  a  so 
ciety  which  is  numerically  small  it  is  rarely  hard  to  guess 
where  the  more  important  members  of  it  are.  So  long 
as  Maria  had  lived  in  Via  San  Martino,  not  by  any  means 
cut  off  from  the  world,  but  quite  independent  of  it,  she 
had  been  in  the  habit  of  coming  and  going  as  she  pleased. 
She  could  slip  out  to  the  little  oratory  in  Via  Somma 
Campagna  at  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning,  she  could  put 
on  her  hat  unknown  to  her  maid  and  go  over  to  the  sta 
tion  to  post  a  letter,  she  could  call  a  cab  and  drive  to 
Saint  Peter's,  or  she  could  take  Leone  with  her  at  a  mo 
ment's  notice,  on  a  fine  day,  for  a  walk  in  the  outlying- 
quarters  of  the  city,  towards  Santa  Maria  Maggiore. 
All  these  things  look  very  simple,  unimportant,  and  easy, 
and  it  might  be  supposed  that  she  could  have  enjoyed 
the  same  small  liberty  after  she  had  moved  back  to  the 
Palazzo  Montalto. 

But  she  could  not.  Whenever  she  went  out,  there  was 
a  footman  on  duty  in  the  hall,  where  the  wide  swinging 
door  to  the  landing  of  the  grand  staircase  was  never 
fastened  except  at  night.  If  she  was  allowed  to  go  down 
stairs  alone,  the  footman  touched  a  bell  that  rang  in  the 

228 


CHAP,  xv  THE    COUNTESS    OF    MONTALTO  229 

porter's  lodge,  and  the  porter  was  waiting  for  her  under 
the  arched  entrance,  respectful  but  imposing,  and  by 
no  means  allowing  her  to  take  a  cab  for  herself  at  the 
stand,  fifty  paces  from  the  door.  The  cab  must  be  called 
for  her,  and  two  of  those  on  the  stand  were  privileged 
by  turns,  because  the  cabmen  paid  the  porter  a  percent 
age  of  what  he  allowed  them  to  earn.  Then,  too,  the 
address  to  which  she  wished  to  be  taken  had  to  be  given 
to  him,  and  he  transmitted  it  to  the  cabman  in  a  stern 
manner,  as  if  he  thought  the  man  certainly  meant  to 
take  her  somewhere  else  and  must  be  dealt  with  severely. 

As  for  going  out  in  her  own  carriage,  that  was  quite 
an  affair  of  state,  too,  though  old  Telemaco  still  sat  on  the 
box.  She  could  not  go  to  the  telephone  whenever  she 
pleased  and  order  him  to  come  when  she  wanted  him. 
There  was  red  tape  in  such  matters.  Maria  had  to  tell 
a  footman,  who  had  to  tell  another,  who  went  down 
stairs  when  he  was  ready  and  who  was  in  no  hurry  to  find 
the  coachman ;  and  difficulties  arose  about  horses  which 
had  never  been  heard  of  when  she  had  hired  a  pair  by  the 
month. 

Moreover,  Leone  now  had  a  tutor  at  home,  and  was 
taken  to  the  clerical  Istituto  Massimo  every  morning, 
because  Montalto  objected  to  the  public  schools,  and 
Maria  was  not  able  to  argue  the  question. 

'Either  you  believe  in  our  religion,  or  you  do  not,  my 
dear,'  the  Count  had  said. 

'I  hope  I  do,'  Maria  had  answered  meekly. 

'In  that  case  I  cannot  see  how  you  can  even  think  of 
sending  Leone  to  a  school  where  no  religion  is  taught.' 


230  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  n 

She  could  not  answer  this,  though  she  had  a  suspicion 
that  the  boy  might  be  'taught  religion'  in  some  other 
and  better  way  than  at  the  day-school.  Yet  it  was  better 
to  have  him  go  to  the  Istituto  Massimo  and  come  home 
for  luncheon,  than  to  lose  him  altogether  for  three-quar 
ters  of  the  year,  as  she  must  if  he  were  sent  to  the  Jesuit 
school  of  Mondragone  in  the  country;  and  that  seemed 
to  be  the  alternative  in  Mont  alto's  mind.  He  himself 
had  been  several  years  at  the  latter  place,  but  Leone 
had  become  necessary  to  him  and  he  wanted  the  boy  at 
home.  Maria  submitted  a  little  more  readily  to  his  de 
cision  when  she  thought  of  Castigliorie,  who  had  been 
through  a  public  school  and  the  military  academy,  and 
wrho,  according  to  her  ideas,  had  no  religion  at  all. 

Leone's  schooling,  the  Count's  methodical  habits,  and 
the  tiresome  formalities  and  traditions  of  existence  in 
the  great  house  combined  to  make  Maria's  clays  almost 
as  monotonously  regular  in  Rome  as  they  had  been  in 
Montalto ;  and  as  they  closely  resembled  those  of  other 
Roman  ladies  of  the  same  age  who  had  children  to  edu 
cate,  it  was  not  hard  for  Castiglione  to  keep  out  of  her 
way. 

So  far  as  society  wrent  it  was  made  still  easier,  because 
even  after  Christmas,  when  their  mourning  wras  slightly 
relaxed,  Montalto  was  evidently  inclined  to  confine  his 
acquaintance  to  the  old-fashioned  and  clerical  houses, 
so  far  as  any  still  existed,  rather  than  to  extend  it  into 
the  modern  circles  where  Castiglione  was  more  often 
seen.  Montalto  made  an  exception  for  Giuliana  Pa- 
renzo  and  her  husband. 


CHAP,  xv  THE    COUNTESS    OF    MOXTALTO  231 

Similar  conditions  being  granted  for  any  particular  case, 
two  people  can  live  a  long  time  without  meeting  face  to 
face,  even  in  Rome ;  arid  in  a  city  like  London  they  may 
not  meet  in  a  dozen  years  if  they  wish  to  avoid  each  other. 

Castiglione  faced  his  life  quietly  and  courageously, 
but  there  were  moments  in  which  his  intention  weakened. 
At  times  it  seemed  to  him  impossible  that  such  a  situa 
tion  should  last  till  his  regiment  left  Rome.  Maria  was  a 
saint,  he  admitted,  and  he  had  no  doubt  at  all  but  that 
he  was  a  man  of  honour  and  meant  to  respect  his  promise, 
however  quixotic  it  looked.  But  he  did  not '  rise  higher,' 
as  Maria  used  to  write  him  that  he  must,  and  still  prayed 
that  he  might.  On  the  contrary,  though  he  kept  his 
word,  he  sometimes  wished  that  he  had  not  given  it; 
the  roughly  masculine  side  of  his  nature  rebelled  against 
the  higher  life,  till  he  asked  himself  why,  after  all,  he  was 
living  like  a  man  under  vows  and  avoiding  the  woman  he 
loved,  for  the  sake  of  a  dream  that  was  quite  past  and 
could  never  visit  him  again. 

But  these  moods  never  lasted  long.  It  was  true  that 
he  had  not  Maria's  faith  in  things  unseen  to  help  him, 
nor  her  beatific  vision  of  an  eternal  reward  for  earthly 
virtues ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  he  had  a  strong  percep 
tion  of  what  was  right  and  wrong,  in  the  sense  that 
conceives  actions  as  morally  noble  or  ignoble,  and  brave 
or  cowardly,  and  he  guessed  what  Maria  was  undergoing. 
He  had  been  the  cause  of  her  suffering,  and  it  would  be 
dastardly  to  let  her  outdo  him  in  courage,  knowing  that 
she  loved  him  still.  In  refusing  to  see  him  she  was  mak 
ing  the  greatest  sacrifice  she  could,  next  to  the  supreme 


232  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  n 

one  she  had  made  when  she  had  let  her  husband  take 
her  back.  Castiglione  knew  that.  People  who  love  in 
earnest  do  not  stop  to  ask  if  they  are  flattering  them 
selves  when  they  believe  that  they  are  loved  in  return. 

The  soldier  was  not  at  all  analytical,  though  he  had  so 
long  led  an  inward  existence  which  no  one  suspected. 
He  knew  when  his  thoughts  were  ignoble,  and  he  despised 
them  then  and  was  disgusted  with  himself;  but  during 
most  of  the  time  he  merely  looked  upon  the  exceptional 
life  he  was  leading  for  Maria's  sake  as  a  duty,  and  there 
fore  as  something  which  must  be  done,  whether  he  liked 
it  or  not.  He  was  rather  a  rough  specimen  of  manhood, 
but  his  nature  was  on  large  lines.  Under  grosser  influ 
ences  in  early  youth,  he  might  have  turned  out  what 
women  call  a  brute,  and  perhaps  it  was  only  his  love  for 
Maria  that  had  saved  him  from  that,  All  men  saints 
have  not  been  born  like  Bernard  of  Clairvaux,  ethereal, 
spiritual,  eloquent,  and  already  beings  of  another  world. 
There  have  been  very  human  Augustines,  too,  and  sorely 
tempted  Anthonys  without  end,  and  there  have  been 
denying  Peters  and  doubting  Thomases  ever  since  the 
beginning;  and  because  some  of  them  were  men  of  like 
passions  with  ourselves,  most  of  us  feel  nearer  to  them 
than  to  the  great  ascetics,  and  we  understand  them  better. 

In  his  thoughts  Castiglione  called  Maria  a  saint,  and 
compared  her  to  a  Catherine  of  Siena  rather  than  to  a 
Magdalen ;  but  she,  too,  had  her  moments  Of  passionate 
regret,  if  not  of  weakness;  she,  too,  was  human  still, 
and  though  she  bore  her  pain  like  a  martyr,  she  loved  like 
a  loving  woman. 


CHAP,   xv  THE    COUNTESS    OF    MONTALTO  233 

Here  ends  such  explanation  and  repetition  as  was 
needed  to  make  clear  what  soon  happened  to  her,  to  her 
husband,  and  to  Castiglione.  After  many  months  of 
quiet,  when  it  seemed  to  Maria  that  nothing  could  ever 
happen  again  in  her  life  beyond  the  daily  round  of  dull 
misery,  fate  took  up  the  action  again  with  sudden  and 
violent  hands. 

The  two  met  by  accident  for  a  few  moments,  quite 
alone.  It  was  at  a  hotel,  of  all  places  in  the  world ;  at  a 
quiet  and  rather  old-fashioned  hotel  which  is  patronised 
by  the  great  of  the  earth  when  they  come  to  Rome  un 
officially,  for  their  own  pleasure.  A  short  time  ago  it 
was  such  a  primitive  place  that  the  lift  wTas  small  and 
was  worked  from  below,  like  most  of  those  in  Roman  pri 
vate  houses. 

Now  it  happened  that  a  certain  young  couple  went  to 
this  hotel  who  were  nearly  related  to  the  Count  of  Mont- 
alto  on  the  Spanish  side  of  his  family,  and  who  were  of 
such  exalted  station  that  two  smart  officers  were  told  off 
to  be  at  their  disposal  and  to  show  them  the  sights  of 
Rome.  One  of  these  officers  was  Castiglione. 

In  the  natural  course  of  social  events  the  Countess  of 
Montalto  had  written  her  name  in  the  book  which  people 
of  such  overwhelming  importance  keep  at  the  porter's 
lodge  in  hotels  where  they  stop,  because  cards  cannot 
be  left  for  them  as  for  ordinary  human  beings,  on  account 
of  their  inconvenient  greatness.  On  the  following  day 
the  Countess  was  informed  that  she  would  be  received  at 
five  o'clock,  and  at  three  minutes  to  five  her  carriage 
stopped  at  the  door.  The  footman  informed  the  porter 


234  A    LADY    OF   HOME  PART  n 

that  her  Excellency  the  Countess  of  Montalto  came  to  sec 
their  Highnesses,  and  at  the  same  instant  Castiglione, 
who  was  on  duty,,  and  in  uniform,  presented  himself  to 
conduct  the  Countess  upstairs. 

It  was  rather  a  trying  moment,  for  he  had  not  been 
told  who  was  coming,  and  he  was  the  last  person  whom 
Maria  expected  to  see  there.  As  the  footman  opened  the 
carriage  door  Castiglione  put  forward  his  arm  to  help 
her  out,  and  she  laid  her  hand  upon  it  as  lightly  and  in 
differently  as  she  could,  but  a  thrill  ran  through  her  to  her 
very  feet,  and  she  felt  how  he  stiffened  his  arm  lest  it 
should  shake.  After  the  first  glance  of  recognition  they 
avoided  each  other's  eyes. 

The  porter  stalked  solemnly  before  them  to  the  lift, 
and  a  moment  later  they  were  alone  together  in  a  space 
so  small  that  they  could  hardly  keep  from  touching, 
while  the  cage  began  to  ascend  with  that  extreme  slow 
ness  which  characterises  the  old-fashioned  Roman  con 
trivances.  Maria  sat  on  the  narrow  little  seat,  feeling 
that  she  dared  not  look  up;  Castiglione  stood  upright, 
squeezing  his  square  shoulders  as  far  back  into  the  corner 
as  he  could,  and  holding  his  right  hand  on  the  handle 
of  the  sliding  door.  He  breathed  audibly,  and  the  lift 
crawled  upwards. 

It  was  almost  unbearable  for  them  both.  To  speak 
indifferently  was  utterly  impossible,  and  silence  meant  too 
much.  Just  as  they  were  reaching  the  first  floor,  Maria 
rose  quickly,  expecting  to  be  let  out;  but  the  cage  did 
not  stop. 

They  were  face  to  face  now,  and  very  near  together, 


CHAP,  xv  THE    COUNTESS    OF    MONTALTO  235 

so  that  Castiglione  distinctly  felt  her  sharply  drawn 
breath  as  she  looked  up  at  him. 

'It  is  the  next  floor/  he  said  unsteadily,  for  he  could 
not  take  his  eyes  from  her  now. 

The  meeting  had  been  too  sudden,  too  close;  Maria 
could  not  bear  it,  but  Castiglione  would  have  let  his 
right  hand  be  cut  off  at  the  wrist,  as  it  held  the  door, 
rather  than  have  moved  it  towards  her.  With  the  other 
he  held  his  sabre  close  to  his  left  side,  and  his  blue  eyes 
gazed  hungrily  into  hers.  A  moment  more  and  the  lift 
would  stop ;  there  was  only  that  moment  left,  for,  with 
out  looking  away  from  him,  she  was  aware  of  the  landing 
just  overhead.  Then  she  spoke. 

'  I  love  you  more  than  ever  ! ' 

The  words  came  to  him  in  a  fierce  whisper.  She  had 
never  spoken  in  that  way,  even  in  days  of  the  short 
sweet  dream  that  was  all  he  had  left.  His  answrer  was 
in  his  eyes,  and  in  the  sudden  pallor  that  overspread  his 
face,  the  ghastly  white  pallor  of  fair  men  who  are  deeply 
moved. 

Then  the  lift  stopped,  the  door  slid  sideways  in  its 
grooves,  and  he  wras  leading  the  wray  through  a  wide  corri 
dor  under  the  electric  light.  Maria  was  not  pale  just 
then;  there  was  a  little  dark  red  flush  in  each  cheek, 
for  shame  at  what  she  had  done. 

Her  visit  was  soon  over,  she  hardly  knew  how,  and 
when  she  came  out  Castiglione  was  not  to  be  seen.  A 
servant  offered  to  call  for  the  lift,  but  she  refused  it  and 
almost  ran  down  the  stairs  in  her  haste  to  get  out  of  the 
hotel.  A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  she  wras  alone  in  her 


236  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  n 

boudoir,  sitting  before  the  small  wood  fire  with  her 
elbows  on  her  knees  and  her  chin  supported  on  her 
clasped  hands. 

She  was  terrified  when  she  thought  of  what  she  had 
done,  and  an  unreasoning  fear  of  the  future  took  posses 
sion  of  her.  She  felt  that  she  had  broken  her  solemn 
promise  and  betrayed  her  husband's  unbounded  faith 
in  her;  for  she  knew  how  she  had  spoken  the  half-dozen 
words,  and  that  if  Castiglione  had  taken  her  into  his 
arms  then,  her  lips  would  have  met  his  instantly,  will 
ingly,  passionately.  It  had  not  been  possible  there; 
but  if  they  had  been  in  another  place,  could  she  have 
blamed  him  as  she  blamed  herself?  And  by  and  by, 
when  it  was  late,  perhaps  she  would  hear  the  familiar 
knock  at  her  unlocked  door,  and  the  lips  that  had  spoken 
those  fierce  little  whispered  words  to  the  man  she  loved 
would  have  to  say  '  Come  in '  to  the  man  whom  she  was 
pledged  to  honour.  That  was  the  sum  and  result,  after 
so  many  months  of  pain  and  prayer  and  self-abasement, 
by  which  she  had  hoped  to  rise  heavenwards.  If  only 
the  man  had  spoken  first,  she  could  have  grasped  at  the 
straw  of  self-excuse,  she  could  have  deluded  herself 
with  the  thought  that  she  had  been  tempted.  But  he 
had  been  silent,  he  had  stood  quite  still,  only  looking  at 
her,  brave  against  himself  and  constant  to  his  plighted 
promise.  It  was  she  who  had  tempted  him;  that  was 
what  she  had  come  to  ! 

There  was  only  one  way  now,  she  would  tear  the 
thought  of  him  from  her  heart  for  ever,  and  trample  out 
his  memory  as  men  stamp  upon  the  embers  of  the  camp 


CHAP,  xv  THE    COUNTESS    OF    MONTALTO  237 

fire  when  the  wind  rises,  lest  the  dry  grass  be  kindled, 
and  they  themselves  be  burnt  to  death  in  the  storm  of 
flame.  It  was  well  that  Montalto  had  taken  her  back 
and  that  the  dream  had  ended  in  that  sharp  agony;  if 
there  had  been  no  such  waking  it  would  have  turned 
into  a  reality  she  shuddered  to  think  of. 

She  rose  and  went  to  her  writing-table  and  opened  a 
deep  drawer.  It  was  there  that  she  kept  the  small  locked 
desk  she  had  used  in  Via  San  Martino,  the  one  in  which 
she  had  put  away  Castiglione's  letters,  meaning  to  burn 
them.  With  them  there  was  also  that  letter  of  her  hus 
band's  in  which  he  had  first  spoken  of  reconciliation, 
and  she  had  never  opened  the  writing-case  since  she 
had  placed  it  there. 

It  had  been  spring  when  she  had  left  the  little  apart 
ment,  and  there  had  been  no  fire  in  any  of  the  rooms. 
The  fireplaces  were  closed  with  painted  boards,  in  the 
Italian  way,  and  she  had  not  wished  to  excite  her  ser 
vants'  curiosity  by  taking  out  the  board  and  burning 
a  quantity  of  papers  on  the  clean  hearth.  Burnt  paper 
leaves  its  unmistakable  black  ash  behind  it,  and  the  ser 
vants  might  guess  that  she  had  destroyed  old  love-letters 
before  going  back  to  her  husband.  Besides,  she  had 
thought  them  innocent  then.  She  had  thought  that 
some  day  she  might  find  comfort  in  reading  them  over  and 
recalling  the  sweetest  illusion  of  her  life,  the  happy  and 
innocent  dream  of  a  love  grown  pure  and  true  in  years  of 
waiting  and  trial.  The  well-loved  writing  was  dearer 
to  her  than  she  would  confess  even  to  herself. 

But  those  letters  must  be  burnt  now.     She  was  alone, 


238  A    LADY    OF    HOME  PART  n 

for  Montalto  was  hardly  ever  at  home  at  that  hour,  and 
Leone  was  busy  at  his  late  afternoon  lesson  with  his 
tutor,  after  having  been  out  till  nearly  sunset.  The  small 
fire  was  burning  well,  too,  and  it  would  be  a  matter  of 
only  two  or  three  minutes  to  destroy  everything ;  and  it 
must  be  done  at  once,  while  she  felt  the  courage  to  do  it. 
She  lifted  the  case  out  of  the  drawer  and  set  it  on  the 
table  before  her,  turning  up  the  shaded  light  she  used  for 
writing.  It  was  a  little  old  desk  that  had  belonged  to  her 
grandmother,  made  of  ebony  and  inlaid  with  metal 
and  mother-of-pearl  in  the  happily  forgotten  taste  of  the 
Second  Empire.  It  was  of  the  old  sloping  shape,  made 
so  that  when  it  was  opened  the  upper  part  turned  down 
in  front,  continuing  the  inclined  plane  to  the  level  of  the 
table,  to  give  enough  space  for  writing;  it  was  one  of 
those  primitive  attempts  at  a  convenient  travelling  writ 
ing-case  which  had  seemed  marvels  of  ingenuity  in  those 
days,  and  look  so  hopelessly  clumsy  to  our  modern  eyes. 
But  Maria's  grandmother  had  used  it  for  many  years,  and 
it  had  a  lock.  Everything  could  be  locked  in  those  days, 
though  most  of  the  keys  were  absurdly  simple.  Maria 
looked  at  it,  and  remembered  that  the  folding  board  was 
covered  on  the  inside  with  very  faded  and  threadbare 
purple  velvet  on  which  there  were  three  or  four  inkstains; 
and  when  the  outer  cover  was  down  the  upper  half  of  the 
folding  board  made  a  second  lid  which  could  be  turned 
down  on  the  first,  and  there  was  a  little  silk  tag  fastened 
to  it,  by  which  it  could  be  moved.  Under  this  second 
lid  was  the  body  of  the  desk,  a  space  large  enough  to 
contain  a  good  many  papers. 


CHAP,  xv  THE    COUNTESS    OF   MONTALTO  239 

Maria  sat  at  the  table  with  the  case  before  her,  and  her 
hands  upon  it.  She  meant  to  burn  ail  the  letters,  except 
Montalto's,  without  reading  them.  That  would  be  the 
only  way,  and  it  would  not  take  more  than  two  or  three 
minutes;  yet  she  hesitated,  though  she  had  already 
taken  the  little  key  from  the  chain  on  which  she  had 
always  carried  it. 

Might  she  not  at  least  think  for  the  last  time  of  those 
dear  words?  They  had  been  quite  innocent.  If  worse 
had  come  to  worst  she  would  have  shown  them  even  to 
her  husband.  They  were  not  eloquent,  for  Castiglione 
had  small  gift  for  writing.  They  were  not  the  rough 
and  uncouth  love-letters  that  such  a  man  might  have 
written ;  for  the  very  essence  of  the  lost  dream  had  been 
that  it  was  to  ignore  the  earthly  love  and  look  forward  to 
the  spiritual.  He  had  tried  to  follow  whither  she  meant 
to  lead,  and  what  he  had  written  was  the  sincere  effort,  the 
pathetically  imperfect  effort,  to  see  something  heavenly 
through  eyes  not  used  to  call  up  the  unreal  in  visions. 

She  remembered  well  the  awkward  wording  of  his  sen 
tences,  and  the  way  he  had  groped  at  the  meaning  of  what 
seemed  so  clear  to  her.  He  could  understand  whatever 
had  to  do  with  honour,  with  courage,  and  even  with  sacri 
fice,  if  it  were  for  her  sake.  But  heavenly  things  were  quite 
beyond  him,  and  even  the  earthly  paradise  she  had  tried 
to  show  him  seemed  very  complicated.  Yet  he  would  try 
to  make  himself  comprehend  it  because  all  her  thoughts 
were  beautiful,  and  because  she  had  taught  him  where 
true  honour  lay,  in  honouring  her  honour,  and  in  kneel 
ing  at  the  shrine  of  her  purity,  he,  a  poor  material  man. 


240  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  n 

Her  purity !  She  remembered  how  the  word  had 
looked  in  his  bold  handwriting ;  and  though  she  was  alone, 
the  flush  of  shame  rose  and  burned  her  cheek,  so  that 
she  laid  the  back  of  her  cold  hand  to  the  spot  to  cool 
it ;  for  her  own  words  were  whispered  again  in  her  ears. 

That  echo  decided  her.  There  was  no  time  to  be  lost. 
It  had  all  been  a  lie  from  the  day  when  he  had  come  to  her 
pretty  booth  at  the  Kermess.  Such  dreams  were  inven 
tions  of  the  devil,  and  nothing  but  rank  poison.  She 
loved  Castiglione  more  than  ever,  as  woman  loves  man, 
fiercely,  desperately,  very  sinfully,  very  shamefully. 
That  was  what  her  whisper  had  told  him  plainly  enough. 
Her  cold  hands  pressed  her  burning  cheeks  again,  but 
there  was  no  hesitation  left.  She  was  alone,  the  fire  was 
burning,  and  surely  no  one  would  disturb  her  during  the 
next  five  minutes. 

She  thrust  the  small  key  into  the  lock  and  turned  it. 
It  stuck  a  little  and  she  pushed  it  in  and  out,  and  turned 
it  to  the  right  and  left  with  almost  feverish  haste,  till 
she  heard  the  click  of  the  tiny  bolt,  and  she  lifted  the 
folding  board  towards  her  on  the  table.  Her  fingers 
sought  the  little  faded  silk  tag  by  which  the  second  lid 
was  to  be  lifted,  but  it  must  have  been  jammed  in  when 
she  had  last  shut  the  case.  She  took  the  first  thing  that 
lay  under  her  hand,  a  sharp  steel  letter-opener  in  the 
shape  of  a  sword,  and  she  forced  the  point  a  little  way  in 
between  the  lid  and  the  edge  of  the  ebony  case,  pressing 
hard  on  the  little  gold  hilt.  The  lid  flew  up  suddenly 
on  its  hinges  and  fell  forwards  towards  her. 

Then  her  heart  failed  her.     The  desk  was  empty. 


CHAP,  xv  THE    COUNTESS    OF    MONTALTO  241 

She  uttered  a  sort  of  faltering  little  cry,  and  she  fell 
back  in  her  chair  with  starting  eyes  and  parted  lips,  her 
hands  still  grasping  the  open  lid.  In  the  wild  confusion 
of  her  horror  and  the  frantic  effort  of  her  memory  to  re 
call  something  that  had  never  been,  she  was  mad  for  a 
moment.  Had  she  burnt  everything  and  forgotten? 
Or  had  she  put  the  papers  in  some  safer  place,  and  lost 
all  recollection  of  what  she  had  done  ? 

That  was  impossible.  She  never  forgot  what  she  did, 
and  she  had  thought  too  often  of  the  letters  not  to  be 
sure  that  she  had  last  seen  them  there.  Some  one 
had  forced  the  desk  and  taken  them.  The  key  had  not 
turned  easily,  as  it  had  always  turned,  because  somebody 
had  tampered  with  the  lock.  The  little  silk  tag  of  the 
inner  lid  had  been  jammed  inside  by  a  hand  unfamiliar 
with  it.  The  details  flashed  upon  her  quickly,  and  in 
half  a  minute  she  understood  that  she  had  forgotten  noth 
ing.  She  had  left  the  letters  in  the  desk,  and  they  were 
no  longer  there.  Some  one  had  stolen  them  all,  and  her 
husband's  letter  with  them. 

She  grew  slowly  cold  with  fear  as  she  closed  the  empty 
desk  and  put  it  into  the  drawer  again;  and  once  more 
that  hideous  thought  rose  up  and  tormented  her.  Mont- 
alto  had  come  back  to  be  revenged  upon  her  for  his 
wrongs,  slowly  and  surely ;  and  that  was  not  all,  for  he 
had  come  secretly  to  her  room  when  she  was  out  of  the 
house  and  had  stolen  her  letters,  for  a  weapon  against  her 
if  he  needed  one. 

Who  else  in  the  house  would  have  dared  to  take  them  ? 


CHAPTER  XVI 

SUCH  a  thought  could  have  no  real  hold  upon  Maria, 
and  she  put  it  away  angrily,  as  unworthy  and  ungenerous, 
even  in  an  extremity  which  might  have  excused  her  for 
suspecting  some  innocent  person.  It  was  much  more 
likely,  she  soon  told  herself,  that  she  had  been  robbed  by 
some  servant  in  the  house,  who  would  sooner  or  later 
attempt  to  blackmail  her  by  threatening  to  show  the 
letters  to  her  husband.  As  for  knowing  even  approxi 
mately  when  the  theft  had  taken  place,  that  was  im 
possible.  She  had  opened  the  writing-case  for  the  last 
time  in  May,  and  nearly  eight  months  had  now  elapsed. 
It  was  one  of  the  objects  she  had  formerly  always  locked 
up  in  a  closet  in  Via  San  Martino  when  she  left  Rome 
for  the  summer.  This  year  she  had  put  it  into  the  deep 
drawer  of  her  new  writing-table,  which  had  an  English 
patent  lock,  and  she  had  taken  the  key  with  her  to  the 
country;  but  she  knew  that  patent  locks  always  had 
two  keys  when  they  were  new,  and  it  occurred  to  her 
now  that  she  had  never  seen  the  second.  Since  she  had 
been  in  Rome  again  she  had  not  even  locked  the  drawer, 
and  had  felt  safe  in  carrying  only  the  key  of  the  desk 
itself.  It  was  impossible  to  say  when  it  had  been  opened, 
and  she  realised  at  once  how  useless  it  was  to  waste 
time  and  thought  in  trying  to  detect  the  thief. 

242 


CHAP,  xvi  THE    COUNTESS   OF   MONTALTO  243 

He  would  reveal  himself  when  he  wanted  the  money. 
She  felt  sure  that  money  only  had  been  his  object  in 
stealing  the  letters,  for  she  could  not  imagine  that  any 
one  should  have  done  it  for  mere  hatred  of  her. 

The  question  was  whether  the  thief  would  demand 
his  price  from  her  or  from  Montalto.  Most  probably 
he  would  write  first  to  her,  for  he  would  know  that  she 
had  some  independent  fortune.  She  would  give  anything 
he  asked,  even  if  he  asked  for  all  she  had. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  he  might  go  directly  to  her 
husband.  The  thought  appalled  her;  the  catastrophe 
might  happen  at  any  moment ;  it  had  perhaps  happened 
already,  that  very  day,  since  she  had  seen  Montalto,  and 
she  would  see  the  change  in  his  face  when  they  met  at 
dinner;  afterwards,  when  they  were  alone,  he  would 
bring  his  accusation  against  her,  and  it  would  be  a  more 
bitter  one  than  the  first  had  been,  long  ago.  Her  shame 
would  be  greater,  too,  before  the  world  when  lie  left  her 
the  second  time  and  for  ever,  and  the  final  ruin  of  his 
life  would  be  upon  her  soul. 

She  wished  she  had  told  him  everything  when  she  had 
spoken  of  her  meeting  with  Castiglione;  but  she  had 
judged  it  wiser  not  to  say  more,  for  she  had  felt  innocent 
of  all  evil  then,  and  the  knowledge  that  many  letters 
had  been  exchanged  would  have  sorely  disturbed  her 
husband's  peace.  He  would  have  answered  her  that  she 
should  have  written  him  all  the  truth  before  he  came 
home.  If  she  had  only  done  that,  he  might  never  have 
returned  to  claim  her.  Yet  this  thought  was  evil,  too, 
now  that  she  had  said  those  words  to  Castiglione  in  the 


244  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  n 

lift,  and  she  must  kill  the  memory  of  her  lover  in  her 
heart  if  she  had  the  least  respect  left  for  herself,  or  for 
her  husband's  honour,  or  for  God's  right. 

Even  now  it  would  be  better  to  throw  herself  upon 
Montalto's  mercy  and  confess  the  truth  before  the  thief 
wrote  to  him.  She  would  rather  tell  it  all,  against  herself, 
than  let  him  learn  it  suddenly,  brutally,  from  the  vile 
letter  in  which  the  blackmailer  would  make  his  demand. 
It  would  be  easier  for  Montalto  too.  At  least  he  would 
be  warned;  at  least,  if  he  chose  to  cast  her  off  again, 
she  would  have  given  him  the  weapon,  the  right,  and 
the  opportunity.  Yes,  it  would  be  better  so. 

The  brave  thought  took  possession  of  her  quickly. 
She  believed  she  saw  the  right  course  before  her,  in  the 
clear  light  of  a  good  inspiration.  Perhaps  Montalto  had 
come  home  already,  though  it  was  only  six  o'clock  and 
he  rarely  came  in  before  seven.  She  now  recollected  that 
Giuliana  Parenzo  and  Monsignor  Saracinesca  were  com 
ing  to  dinner.  When  her  husband  told  her  that  he  had 
asked  Don  Ippolito  to  dine,  she  generally  telephoned 
to  Giuliana  to  come  if  she  could.  The  two  men  often 
engaged  in  endless  discussions  about  the  relations  of 
Church  and  State,  during  the  evening;  the  layman  be 
lieved  in  the  dream  of  restoring  the  temporal  power  of 
the  Pope,  the  churchman  did  not,  and  had  a  patriotic 
affection  for  his  country  and  a  belief  in  its  future,  which 
made  Montalto  tremble  for  his  salvation.  At  first 
Maria  had  derived  some  amusement  from  this  anomalous 
situation,  but  when  she  had  occasionally  ventured  to 
put  in  a  word  for  the  new  order  of  things,  Montalto  had 


CHAP,  xvi  THE  COUNTESS    OF    MONTALTO  245 

been  visibly  displeased.  After  that  she  had  resorted 
to  the  device  of  asking  Giuliana,  with  whom  she  could 
talk  quietly  at  one  end  of  the  drawing-room  while  her 
husband  and  his  friend  carried  on  their  unending  argu 
ment  at  the  other.  Incidentally,  she  often  wondered 
how  such  a  broad-minded  man  as  Don  Ippolito  could 
be  so  sincerely  attached  to  such  a  prejudiced  one  as 
Montalto. 

To-night  she  would  have  to  wait  till  the  Canon  and  the 
Marchesa  were  gone  before  she  could  speak  to  her  hus 
band.  It  would  be  very  unwise  to  tell  him  her  story 
before  dinner,  though  she  felt  an  intense  desire  to  un 
burden  herself  of  it  at  once.  She  wondered  how  she 
should  get  through  the  evening,  from  eight  o'clock  till 
half-past  ten  or  eleven,  without  betraying  her  distress; 
but  to  her  own  surprise  she  found  herself  growing  calmer 
and  cooler  than  she  could  have  thought  it  possible  for 
her  to  be.  She  was  in  something  more  than  trouble; 
she  was  in  danger  from  an  unknown  and  dastardly  hand, 
and  she  was  naturally  brave  enough  to  be  calmer  at  such 
a  moment  than  under  the  strain  of  any  purely  mental 
suffering. 

She  was  conscious  of  impatience  more  than  of  fear  or 
want  of  strength,  for  she  was  going  to  do  the  only  thing 
that  was  brave  and  right  and  truthful,  and  after  that  such 
consequences  might  come  as  must. 

She  put  the  empty  desk  away  in  the  drawer,  and  after 
a  moment's  hesitation  she  unlocked  the  door  of  the  pas 
sage  that  led  to  the  chapel,  opening  it  with  one  hand 
as  she  moved  the  key  to  turn  up  the  electric  light ;  she 


246  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  n 

entered,  shut  the  door  after  her,  and  went  forwards, 
absorbed  in  her  thoughts. 

Before  she  was  half-way  down  the  long  straight  part 
of  the  passage,  after  the  corner,  the  lights  went  out.  She 
stood  still  in  momentary  surprise  and  then  turned  back. 
The  electric  light  had  been  put  in  by  a  German  com}: any, 
and  the  keys  were  little  flat  levers  that  were  kept  in  place 
by  a  spring.  Maria  thought  she  had  perhaps  not  pushed 
the  one  at  the  boudoir  door  quite  far  enough  to  set  it, 
and  that  it  had  sprung  back  of  itself  and  cut  off  the  cur 
rent.  She  retraced  her  steps,  following  the  smooth 
varnished  wall  with  her  hand  till  she  reached  the  familiar 
corner,  and  then  her  own  door.  She  pushed  the  lever 
both  ways  but  no  light  came,  so  she  concluded  that  an 
accident  had  happened  to  the  wires  just  when  she  was 
half-way  through  the  passage. 

There  were  no  candles  in  the  room,  but  she  lit  a  wax 
t-aper  she  used  for  sealing  notes.  It  was  a  long  and  thick 
one,  rolled  on  itself  and  fitted  into  an  old  silver  stand 
with  a  handle  like  a  candlestick,  and  it  gave  a  very  fair 
light.  She  threw  the  match  into  the  fire,  entered  the 
passage  again,  and  made  her  way  towards  the  chapel. 
She  went  in  and  set  the  taper-stand  on  the  marble  floor 
beside  her  as  she  knelt  down  in  the  place  which  was 
always  hers. 

Three  small  silver  lamps,  fed  with  pure  olive  oil  and 
hanging  from  the  arch  over  the  altar,  shed  a  feeble  light 
which  was  considerably  strengthened  by  that  from  the 
taper.  The  ugly  barocco  angels  and  stucco  wrork  cast 
queer  shadows  above  the  altar  and  the  walls,  but  Maria 


CHAP,  xvi  THE    COUNTESS  OF  MONTALTO  247 

(lid  not  even  glance  at  them  and  bent  her  head  down  over 
her  clasped  hands.  The  chapel  had  often  been  her 
refuge  and  her  place  of  peace,  since  she  had  first  come 
there  long  before  dawn  in  the  night  that  followed  her 
husband's  return. 

As  she  knelt  there  now  in  the  silence  and  gloom  she 
was  thinking,  rather  than  trying  to  say  any  prayer; 
she  was  going  over  in  her  mind  the  things  she  must  say 
to  be  quite  truthful.  She  was  recalling  the  words  she 
had  once  said  to  Castiglione,  the  two  innocent  kisses 
she  had  received  from  him,  the  promises  both  had  given 
and  both  had  kept  until  to-day;  and  in  the  presence  of 
the  mortal  danger  that  was  hanging  over  her  now,  she 
felt  that  the  whispered  words  of  love  she  had  spoken  that 
afternoon  were  perhaps  but  a  small  matter  compared 
with  it ;  a  sin  that  concerned  her  own  soul  only,  to  be 
confessed,  repented  of,  and  forgiven  in  time,  whereas  the 
main  great  matters  were  her  husband's  honour  and  the 
happiness  she  had  tried  so  hard  to  give  him  in  all  ways. 

If  only  she  could  make  him  see  the  truth  as  she  had 
seen  it,  he  would  understand  and  still  forgive;  and  her 
fortune  could  buy  back  the  evidence  of  what  had  been 
no  real  betrayal  of  his  honour.  If  only  she  could  tell 
her  true  story  as  she  knew  it,  that  would  be  the  result. 

She  started  as  she  knelt,  and  looked  round  in  the  dim 
ness,  with  the  sudden  conviction  that  she  was  not  alone. 
Her  hearing  and  sight  were  very  keen,  but  she  was  not 
aware  of  having  heard  any  sound  or  seen  any  moving 
shadow  in  the  chapel.  The  certainty  had  come  upon  her 
all  at  once,  instinctively,  she  knew  not  how. 


248  A    LADY    OF    ROME 


PART   II 


There  was  nothing  to  be  seen,  but  she  listened  intently 
with  bent  head.  A  moment  later  she  looked  up  again, 
for  she  had  heard  something.  Some  one  was  breathing 
riot  far  from  her,  and  it  was  that  soft  and  regular  sound 
that  had  warned  her  before  she  was  aware  that  she  heard  it. 

Her  first  impulse  was  to  rise  and  search  the  chapel 
with  her  taper,  but  it  occurred  to  her  that  Montalto 
might  have  come  there  to  say  his  prayers,  and  might 
be  kneeling  somewhere  out  of  sight,  behind  one  of  the 
pillars  that  supported  the  arch.  He  had  perhaps  heard 
her  enter,  and  had  not  wished  to  disturb  her  by  betraying 
his  presence.  In  his  slow  way  he  was  very  thoughtful 
for  her.  She  would  go  away  now,  and  not  let  him 
know  that  she  had  heard  him  breathing. 

But  perhaps,  again,  if  he  were  really  present,  there 
could  be  no  better  time  or  place  for  telling  him  her  story 
and  appealing  to  his  kindness.  Her  impatience  to  do 
that  turned  the  scale. 

1  Diego,  are  you  here  ? '  she  asked  softly. 

There  was  no  answer,  but  the  breathing  ceased  for  a 
moment  and  then  the  unseen  person  drew  a  longer 
breath.  Maria  felt  a  little  thrill  that  was  not  fear;  it 
was  more  like  resentment.  She  took  the  taper  from  the 
floor  and  rose  to  her  feet. 

1  Who  is  here  ? '  she  asked  in  a  louder  tone. 

Still  there  was  no  answer.  Perhaps,  after  all,  it  was 
only  a  cat  that  had  slipped  in  when  the  chapel  was  being 
swept,  and  had  gone  to  sleep.  Maria  moved  towards  the 
altar,  shading  the  light  from  her  eyes  with  her  hand  and 
peering  over  it  into  the  gloom.  She  spoke  as  she  walked. 


CHAP,  xvi  THE   COUNTESS   OF    MONTALTO  249 

'I  hear  you  breathing.  Show  yourself ,  whoever  you 
are  !  Come  forward  at  once  ! ' 

She  spoke  authoritatively  and  coolly,  though  at  that 
very  moment  something  told  her  that  the  intruder  might 
be  a  thief  who  had  come  to  steal  the  famous  relic  of  the 
Cross  that  was  preserved  under  the  altar.  She  looked 
first  to  the  right  and  then  to  the  left,  and  there,  flattened 
against  the  wall  in  the  shadow  of  the  pilaster,  she  saw 
the  figure  of  a  man.  Without  hesitating  a  moment  she 
went  straight  towards  him.  When  he  understood  that 
he  was  caught  he  came  forward  at  last,  and  the  light  of 
the  taper  showed  her  the  face  of  Orlando  Schmidt,  the 
steward. 

Maria  stopped  two  paces  from  him. 

'What  are  you  doing  here  at  this  hour?'  she  asked 
sternly. 

She  had  never  before  seen  him  pale;  he  was  white 
round  the  lips  nowr. 

'I  beg  your  Excellency's  pardon/  he  said  with  a  glib- 
ness  that  did  not  at  all  agree  with  his  looks,  '  I  came  to  see 
about  some  work  that  is  to  be  done,  and  when  you  entered 
I  hid  myself  in  order  not  to  disturb  your  Excellency's 
devotions.' 

The  Countess  held  the  small  light  higher  and  scrutinised 
his  face  thoughtfully. 

'You  are  not  telling  the  truth,'  she  said  with  great 
calmness.  'What  were  you  doing  here?' 

'What  I  have  told  you,  Signora  Contessa/  he  an 
swered  stubbornly. 

'There  is  no  work  to  be  clone  here/  returned  Maria, 


250  A    LADY    OF    ROMP]  PART  n 

her  tone  growing  hard  and  clear.  '  The  Count  and  I  have 
talked  of  the  chapel  recently.  If  you  do  not  at  once  tell 
me  what  brings  you  here,  with  no  light  at  this  hour,  I 
shall  go  to  the  door  and  call.' 

The  chapel  opened  into  the  ante-chamber,  of  which 
the  door  was  generally  open  to  the  outer  hall,  where  a 
footman  was  always  stationed. 

'Your  Excellency  is  quite  welcome/  said  Schmidt, 
and  his  coolness  almost  convinced  Maria  that  he  had 
told  the  truth. 

Yet  his  face  was  very  white  and  his  eyes  showed  his 
inward  fear. 

'Take  care/  Maria  said.  'The  Count  has  told  me  how 
he  forgave  you  once.  I  do  not  wish  to  ruin  you,  but  un 
less  you  tell  the  truth  I  shall  call  some  one.  You  have 
either  taken  the  relic  from  under  the  altar  or  you  came 
here  to  take  it.' 

'You  are  mistaken,  Signora  Contessa/  the  man  an 
swered  obstinately;  'the  relic  is  in  its  place.  You  may 
see  for  yourself.' 

'Then  give  me  the  keys,  for  you  have  them  in  your 
pocket.' 

'I  have  not,  Excellency.' 

'I  do  not  believe  you.' 

Maria  held  the  light  so  that  she  could  see  him  while 
she  moved  quickly  towards  the  large  door. 

'I  am  going  to  call  the  servants/  she  said,  'and  they 
shall  search  your  pockets.' 

Schmidt  attempted  to  smile. 

'  Your  Excellency  cannot  be  in  earnest/  he  managed  to 


CHAP,  xvi  THE    COUNTESS    OF   MONTALTO  251 

say,  but  his  teeth  were  chattering  and  lie  was  perfectly 
livid. 

The  Countess  laid  her  hand  on  the  lock.  It  could  be 
opened  from  within  by  a  handle,  but  required  a  latch-key 
to  open  it  from  the  other  side.  She  watched  Schmidt 
steadily  and  began  to  turn  the  knob.  He  looked  round 
in  a  scared  way,  as  if  hoping  to  see  some  means  of  escape, 
and  her  fingers  slowly  turned  the  handle  of  the  door.  At 
the  last  second  he  broke  down. 

'For  God's  sake,  Excellency!'  he  cried,  in  utmost 
fear.  1 1  have  taken  nothing !  I  swear  it  on  the  altar, 
on  the  Sacrament  - 

'Do  not  blaspheme/  said  the  Countess  quietly,  and 
she  let  the  latch  spring  softly  back  into  its  place.  '  If  you 
had  not  something  about  you  which  you  have  stolen,  you 
would  not  be  so  frightened  at  the  idea  of  being  searched.' 

'It  is  the  disgrace  before  the  servants - 

'That  is  absurd.  If  nothing  is  found  on  you,  the 
blame  will  fall  on  me.  You  must  make  up  your  mind  in 
stantly  whether  you  will  throw  yourself  on  my  mercy 
and  show  me  what  you  have  taken,  or  whether  the  men 
shall  search  you.' 

Her  hand  moved  to  the  lock  again,  and  Schmidt  read 
in  her  face  that  her  patience  was  exhausted.  A  southern 
Italian  would  have  become  dramatic  at  this  point,  and 
would  probably  have  fallen  on  his  knees,  tearing  his  hair 
and  shedding  real  tears.  But  Schmidt  was  from  the 
north,  and  practically  an  Austrian.  He  was  a  thief, 
he  saw  that  he  was  caught,  and  he  made  the  best  of  the 
situation  at  once. 


252  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  n 

'Then  I  appeal  to  your  Excellency's  generosity/  he 
said  quietly.  'I  have  not  touched  the  relic,  and  what  I 
took  some  time  ago  I  had  come  to  restore  when  you  found 
me  here.' 

He  produced  from  his  pocket  a  square  package,  done 
up  in  a  clean  sheet  of  white  paper,  without  string.  He 
handed  it  to  her. 

'You  will  find  here  seven  letters  from  the  Conte  del 
Castiglione,'  he  said,  'and  one  from  his  Excellency.  I 
took  them  from  your  writing-case  three  weeks  ago,  and  I 
was  going  to  put  them  back  this  evening  while  you  were 
at  dinner.  I  heard  you  coming  and  I  could  not  go  out 
by  the  ante-chamber  without  being  seen.  So  I  cut  the 
wire  of  the  light  and  hid  myself.' 

Maria's  hand  had  closed  upon  the  precious  packet 
while  he  spoke. 

'You?'  she  cried  at  last.  She  was  almost  speechless 
with  amazement.  'You  took  them?' 

'Yes,  Signora  Contessa,  and  I  give  them  back  and  im 
plore  your  pardon.' 

'Why  did  you  take  them  if  it  was  not  to  extract  money 
from  me?'  Maria  asked,  recovering  her  presence  of  mind 
quickly. 

In  the  storm  of  her  distress  she  felt  as  if  a  wave  had 
lifted  her  up  and  had  set  her  high  on  the  shore,  and  at 
the  first  moment  she  was  more  amazed  at  the  man's 
audacity  than  angry  at  what  he  had  done. 

'Signora  Contessa,'  he  said,  'the  story  the  Count  told 
you  is  true ;  since  he  forgave  me,  there  is  nothing  I  will 
not  do  for  him,  his  interest,  and  his  honour.  I  did  your 


CHAP,  xvi  THE    COUNTESS    OF   MONTALTO  253 

Excellency  the  great  injustice  of  suspecting  that  you 
still  corresponded  with  the  Signer  Contc  del  Castiglione. 
I  have  read  the  letters  and  I  have  observed  the  dates. 
I  was  wrong.  If  you  think  it  wise  to  disturb  my  mas 
ter's  peace  by  telling  him  what  I  have  done,  I  must  sub 
mit  and  bear  his  displeasure.  He  will  turn  me  out  for 
having  dared  to  play  detective  and  spy  upon  the  Signora 
Contessa  in  his  own  house,  for  his  confidence  in  you  is 
absolute.  Will  your  Excellency  verify  the  contents  of 
the  package?  I  will  hold  the  taper,  if  you  will  allow 
me.' 

Maria  felt  as  if  she  were  in  a  dream,  half  good,  half  evil. 
She  opened  the  packet  while  Schmidt  held  the  light,  and 
she  quickly  made  sure  that  none  of  the  letters  were  miss 
ing  and  that  each  was  complete;  that  was  soon  done, 
for  Castiglione  had  rarely  filled  more  than  one  sheet  in 
writing  to  her. 

She  laid  them  all  together  again  and  took  the  taper- 
stand  from  the  stewrard  without  a  word.  It  was  all  a 
dream.  If  he  had  been  a  villain,  he  might  have  had  her 
fortune  for  what  he  was  freely  giving  back  to  her;  but 
he  had  nothing.  He  had  not  even  begged  her  not  to  tell 
her  husband  what  had  happened.  It  was  incompre 
hensible  beyond  all  explanation ;  but  one  fact  remained  : 
she  had  recovered  the  letters  of  which  the  loss  had  nearly 
driven  her  mad,  within  an  hour  of  finding  that  they  had 
been  stolen.  That  was  the  main  thing,  and  nothing  else 
mattered  much  for  a  while. 

'You  have  a  singular  way  of  serving  your  master,'  she 
said,  as  she  reached  the  door  of  the  passage;  'but  since 


254  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  n 

you  have  appealed  to  my  generosity,  I  shall  say  nothing 
to  the  Count,7 

'I  am  most  grateful  to  your  Excellency.' 

He  opened  the  door  and  held  it  back  while  she  passed 
in,  and  when  he  had  shut  it  after  her  he  heard  the  bolt 
pushed  into  its  slot.  Then  at  last  he  smiled,  for  though 
a  bolt  is  generally  considered  to  be  a  solid  fastening  for 
the  inside  of  a  door,  this  one  could  easily  be  moved  from 
without  by  an  unobtrusive  little  brass  button,  no  bigger 
than  a  pea,  that  moved  along  a  slit  narrow  enough  to 
pass  unnoticed. 

Schmidt  waited  in  the  chapel  two  hours.  When  he 
knew  that  the  family  was  at  dinner,  he  opened  the  passage 
door  noiselessly  and  twisted  together  the  ends  of  the  wire 
he  had  cut.  He  had  been  badly  frightened,  but  things 
had  ended  well  enough;  better  for  him  than  for  the 
Countess,  he  thought. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

NOTHING  happened  during  the  next  week;  nothing, 
that  is  to  say,  which  can  be  chronicled  as  an  event.  But 
the  determination  which  Maria  had  formed  after  her 
chance  meeting  with  Castiglione  gained  strength  con 
tinually.  She  went  to  confession  at  last,  and  it  was  a 
bitter  satisfaction  to  be  told  that  she  was  in  mortal  sin 
because  she  had  whispered  those  few  loving  words  in  the 
weakness  of  an  instant;  she  was  reminded  that  if  the 
mere  wish  to  kill  was  almost  as  bad  as  the  intention,  and 
that  the  intention  was  murder  and  nothing  else,  it  fol 
lowed  that  the  most  passing  wish  to  be  united  with  any 
man  but  her  husband  was  a  betrayal  of  her  marriage  vow 
only  a  little  less  grave  than  the  worst.  She  replied  that 
she  knew  it  was.  She  was  warned  that  she  must  uproot 
from  her  heart  every  memory  of  the  man  she  had  loved, 
if  she  hoped  to  be  forgiven.  She  bowed  her  head  and 
answered  that  she  wished  with  all  her  soul  to  do  so,  and 
was  trying  with  all  her  might  to  succeed. 

She  had  gone  once  more  to  the  terrible  old  Capuchin, 
because  she  knew  what  he  would  say,  and  wished  to  hear 
him  say  it.  Though  the  name  of  Padre  Bonaventura 
was  known  to  her  and  to  many,  he  did  not  know  her 
and  had  never  seen  her  face ;  it  was  before  God  that  she 
accused  herself  and  abased  herself,  and  promised  to  do 

255 


256  A    LADY    OF   ROME  PART  n 

better,  and  most  earnestly  prayed  for  help.  The  monk 
remembered  her  without  knowing  who  she  was,  and  be 
fore  he  pronounced  the  absolution  she  implored,  he  said 
what  he  believed  it  his  duty  to  say.  It  was  a  short, 
harsh  homily  on  the  abominable  wickedness  of  the  rich 
and  great,  who  were  so  much  better  taught  and  so  much 
more  carefully  brought  up  than  the  poor  and  the  igno 
rant,  and  therefore  so  much  the  more  responsible  for 
their  thoughts  and  actions.  The  sin  of  the  noble  lady 
was  a  thousand  times  greater  than  the  fault  of  the  un 
lettered  hill-woman.  Why  should  a  lady  of  Rome  expect 
to  be  forgiven  more  easily  than  a  peasant  ? 

To  this  also  Maria  bent  her  head,  and  said  she  came  to 
confession  as  a  sinful  woman,  with  no  thought  of  her  own 
station  in  life;  and  at  last  the  Capuchin  was  satisfied. 
While  she  was  kneeling  in  the  quiet  church  just  after 
wards,  he  came  out  of  his  box  and  went  away,  and  she 
watched  him,  remembering  how  he  had  stalked  away,  in 
righteous  indignation,  with  his  grim  old  head  in  the  air, 
after  she  had  come  to  him  the  first  time.  But  now  he 
walked  quietly  and  slowly,  looking  down ;  and  before  he 
disappeared  he  knelt  before  the  altar  a  few  moments. 
She  knew  that  he  was  praying  for  her,  as  a  good  confessor 
does  for  each  penitent,  and  she  was  humbly  grateful. 
Even  in  her  inmost  consciousness  she  did  not  think  criti 
cally  of  what  he  had  said,  nor  find  fault  with  his  scant 
knowledge  of  great  ladies'  hearts. 

She  did  not  think  she  had  'risen  higher'  now.  Her 
attempt  to  rise  by  the  purification  of  her  earthly  love 
had  been  a  wretched  failure.  Henceforth  she  would 


CHAP,  xvii  THE    COUNTESS  OF   MONT  ALTO  257 

dream  no  dreams  of  that  sort :  not  once,  in  years  to  come, 
would  she  willingly  dwell  on  thoughts  of  Baldassare  del 
Castiglione. 

It  was  half-past  five  o'clock  when  she  reached  her  home 
again,  and  on  the  way  another  resolution  had  formed 
itself,  on  which  she  acted  at  once.  She  determined  to 
tell  her  husband  everything  that  had  happened  before 
he  had  come  back.  Her  reason  was  a  practical  one, 
strong  enough  to  warrant  the  risk  she  was  about  to  take; 
for  she  now  distrusted  the  man  Schmidt,  who  might  at 
any  moment  turn  against  her  and  use  the  knowledge  he 
had  obtained,  and  ruin  Montalto's  life  by  placing  her 
in  an  utterly  false  light.  It  was  only  natural  that  the 
steward  should  hate  her,  since  she  had  caught  him  in  the 
chapel,  and  before  long  he  would  try  to  get  rid  of  her. 
Yet  she  was  thinking  less  of  herself  now  than  of  Mont- 
alto. 

She  sent  for  her  husband's  valet,  and  told  him  to  beg 
the  Count  to  come  to  her  as  soon  as  he  returned. 

An  hour  later  he  entered  the  boudoir,  looking  rather 
pale  and  tired,  as  she  thought.  Her  resolution  wavered 
for  a  moment,  but  soon  returned  when  she  remembered 
the  man  who  had  stolen  her  secret,  and  who  might  so 
terribly  misrepresent  it.  That  thought  had  hindered 
her  from  burning  the  letters  as  soon  as  they  were  again 
in  her  possession,  and  she  had  put  them  away  in  her 
jewel-case. 

She  made  Montalto  sit  down  near  the  small  fire,  and, 
to  his  surprise,  she  locked  the  door  that  led  into  the  ball 
room  before  she  seated  herself  beside  him. 


258  A   LADY    OF    ROME  PART  n 

'We  might  be  interrupted/  she  said,  in  explanation. 

'What  is  the  matter,  my  dear?'   her  husband  asked. 

'I  have  something  to  tell  you/  she  answered.  'You 
must  be  patient  with  me,  Diego.  You  must  try  to  under 
stand,  though  it  will  be  hard.  I  thought  I  was  doing 
right,  but  after  a  long  time  I  am  quite  sure  that  it  was 
wrong.' 

'My  dear  Maria/  Montalto  said,  'if  your  intention  was 
good,  you  did  nothing  wrong.  You  only  made  a  mis 
take.' 

'Thank  you.'  She  was  grateful  for  the  trite  words, 
because  she  knew  that  he  meant  them.  'When  you 
came  home/  she  continued  after  a  short  time,  'I  told  you 
that  I  had  seen  Baldassare,  and  that  we  had  parted 
for  ever.  You  said  we  need  not  speak  of  him  again.' 

'Yes.'  Montalto's  face  became  very  grave  as  he 
nodded  and  looked  at  the  fire. 

'What  I  told  you  was  true/  she  went  on.  'The  last 
time  we  met,  we  agreed  never  to  see  each  other  again  if 
we  could  avoid  it.  That  was  quite  true.  But  it  gave 
you  a  wrong  impression.  You  may  have  thought  that 
after  you  had  gone  away  to  live  in  Spain  we  had  only  met 
that  once.' 

Montalto  looked  at  her  with  a  startled  expression, 
but  she  met  his  eyes  quietly  and  honestly. 

'No,  Diego/  she  said  at  once,  'I  did  nothing  that  I 
thought  wrong  or  felt  ashamed  of.' 

He  turned  to  the  fire  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  but  did  not 
speak. 

'He  came  to  Rome  a  month  or  more  before  your 


CHAP,  xvii  THE    COUNTESS    OF    MONT  ALTO  259 

mother  died/  she  continued.  'I  had  not  seen  him 
since  — -  since  that  time  —  you  know  —  long  before  you 
first  went  to  your  mother.  We  met  by  accident.  They 
had  persuaded  me  to  take  one  of  the  booths  at  Kermess 
in  the  Villa,  and  he  appeared  quite  unexpectedly.  You 
believe  me,  don't  you,  Diego?' 

Mont-alto  turned  to  her  and  spoke  very  slowly. 

'I  shall  believe  every  word  you  tell  me.  You  never 
told  me  an  untruth  in  your  life.' 

'No,  never.  But  I  thank  you  for  trusting  me  now.  It 
is  not  every  man  that  would.  After  he  came  back'  — • 
she  was  careful  not  to  mention  Castiglione's  name  after 
the  first  time  —  '  I  saw  him  again  and  again ;  I  thought 
I  hated  him,  Diego,  but  I  loved  him  still.' 

It  was  hard  to  say,  but  perhaps  it  was  harder  to  hear. 
Yet  her  husband  had  never  known  how  she  had  deceived 
herself  into  believing  that  she  hated  Castiglione,  and  he 
did  not  turn  upon  her  as  she  had  expected.  His  head 
sank  a  little,  but  he  was  still  watching  the  burning  logs. 

1  Do  you  love  him  now  ? '   he  asked  with  an  effort. 

'I  have  promised  on  my  knees  and  before  God  to  tear 
every  thought  of  him  from  my  heart.' 

There  was  no  mistaking  her  tone. 

'That  is  enough/  he  answered.  'No  one  can  ask  more 
than  that  of  you.' 

A  short  silence  followed. 

'Is  that  all,  my  dear?'  he  asked  presently  in  a  kind 
tone. 

'No.  There  is  more,  and  it  will  be  harder  to  under 
stand,  perhaps,  though  it  will  be  easier  to  say.  I  found 


260  A    LADY    OF   ROME  PART  n 

him  greatly  changed  after  all  those  years;  changed  for 
the  better,  I  mean.  Then  I  let  myself  believe  that  we 
could  love  each  other  innocently  for  the  rest  of  our  lives, 
and  do  no  wrong,  not  even  to  you.' 

'Not  even  to  me.'  There  was  a  sudden  bitterness  in 
Montalto's  voice  as  he  repeated  the  words. 

'I  did  not  think  you  loved  me  still,  Diego.  You  had 
not  forgiven  me  then.  I  felt  that  my  only  duty  to  you 
was  to  bear  your  name  without  more  reproach,  and  I  did 
that.  There  was  not  a  word  breathed  against  me  in 
those  years.  You  knowr  how  I  lived,  and  I  had  no  secret ; 
what  the  world  knew  was  all  there  was  to  be  known. 
But  when  he  came  back  I  began  to  dream  of  something 
innocent  —  that  seemed  possible.' 

The  last  sentence  choked  her  a  little.  Montalto  turned 
to  her. 

'Do  you  regret  your  dream  now?  Do  you  wish  it 
back?'  he  asked  sorrowfully. 

'No!'  she  said  with  sudden  vehemence.  'It  was  not 
right,  it  was  wrong !  It  was  not  innocent,  it  was  a  temp 
tation  !  It  is  gone.  I  will  never  think  of  it  again,  nor  of 
him,  if  God  will  help  me  to  forget.' 

'I  am  trying  to  help  you,  too,  Maria.' 

The  words  cut  her  to  the  quick.  He  meant  them  so 
truly,  he  spoke  them  so  humbly,  he  loved  her  so  dearly; 
yet  she  felt  her  flesh  creep  at  his  touch  and  shrank  under 
his  least  caress,  do  what  she  could. 

'I  know  you  are,  Diego/  she  managed  to  say,  and  then 
she  collected  her  strength  to  tell  what  was  left.  'It 
lasted  a  month  or  six  weeks  altogether,'  she  said,  going 


CHAP,  xvii  THE    COUNTESS    OF   MONTALTO  261 

on  quickly.  'He  had  exchanged  into  another  regiment 
in  order  not  to  be  quartered  in  Rome.  He  was  in  Milan 
then,  and  he  was  here  on  a  short  leave.  He  ap 
plied  to  be  allowed  to  come  back  to  the  Piedmont  Lan 
cers.  While  he  was  in  Milan  we  wrote  to  each  other. 
We  promised  to  be  faithful  and  innocent;  we  told  each 
other  that  we  would  love  as  spirits  love,  and  meet  in 
heaven.  Then  your  mother  died,  and  you  wrote  me 
that  first  long  letter,  and  I  answered  it ;  and  on  the  same 
day  I  wrote  to  him  and  told  him  he  must  not  come  to 
Rome,  that  we  must  never  see  each  other  again  because 
you  were  going  to  take  me  back.  But  it  was  too  late, 
the  matter  had  been  settled  already,  and  he  had  to 
come.' 

'Of  course/  said  Montalto,  in  a  dull  tone,  when  she 
paused. 

'I  sent  for  him  then.  That  was  the  last  time,  the  time 
I  told  you  of.  He  came,  and  we  said  good-bye.' 

A  long  pause  followed,  and  Montalto  did  not  move. 

'Is  that  all  you  wished  to  tell  me  ?'  he  asked  at  length. 

'I  let  him  kiss  my  cheek  twice,'  Maria  said,  very  low. 

This  time  her  husband  turned  towards  her  quickly, 
and  she  saw  how  very  pale  he  was. 

'Was  that  when  you  parted?' 

'  No !  Oh,  no !  It  was  in  those  first  few  days  when 
he  was  here  on  leave.' 

Montalto  seemed  relieved,  and  his  face  softened;  he 
was  still  looking  at  her,  but  he  did  not  speak. 

'Can  you  forgive  me  that?'   she  asked. 

'You  meant  no  harm,'  he  said.     'You  were  not  think- 


262  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  n 

ing  of  doing  any  wrong,  you  were  only  dreaming  of  an 
impossible  good.  There  is  nothing  to  forgive.' 

'  Ah,  how  good  you  are  to  me  !     How  very,  very  good  ! ' 

'It  is  only  justice,  and  I  love  you.  How  can  I  be  un 
just  to  you  when  I  see  how  hard  you  are  trying  to  do 
right?' 

'You  are  one  of  the  best  men  that  ever  lived/  said 
Maria,  and  for  a  few  seconds  she  covered  her  face  with 
her  hands.  'Only  tell  me/  she  continued  presently, 
looking  up,  'you  know  all  my  story  now  —  have  I  hurt 
you  very  much  ? ' 

'A  little,  my  dear,  but  it  is  over  already.  Think  of 
what  I  should  have  felt  if  you  had  not  told  me  these 
things,  and  if  some  enemy,  who  knew,  had  told  them  as 
an  enemy  might ! ' 

He,  who  was  often  so  dull,  seemed  to  have  divined  her 
inmost  intention.  She  rose  from  her  seat. 

'What  is  it?'   he  asked,  moving  to  stand  up. 

'Wait  a  moment!' 

She  went  into  her  dressing-room  and  returned  almost 
instantly,  bringing  a  large  envelope.  He  was  seated 
again  and  she  stood  between  him  and  the  fireplace,  facing 
him. 

'He  wrote  me  seven  letters/  she  said.  'Here  they 
are.  I  give  them  into  your  hands.  Read  them,  and 
you  will  understand  better.' 

He  took  the  envelope  and  held  it  a  moment,  looking 
up  to  her  face  with  a  gentle  smile. 

'Thank  you,  my  dear/  he  said.  'I  do  not  need  any 
proofs  in  order  to  believe  you.' 


CHAP,  xvn  THE    COUNTESS    OF    MONT  ALTO  263 

He  rose  then  and  tried  to  pass  her,  to  reach  the  fire, 
evidently  meaning  to  burn  the  letters  at  once. 

The  tears  came  suddenly  to  her  eyes  without  overflow 
ing,  as  they  did  sometimes  when  she  was  much  moved 
by  a  generous  word  or  deed,  but  she  caught  at  his  arm 
as  he  was  in  the  act  of  tossing  the  letters  into  the  flames. 
The  envelope  left  his  hand  but  fell  short  and  lay  on  the 
polished  tiles  of  the  hearth.  Maria  stooped  and  picked 
it  up. 

'No/  sh  •  said  quickly,  'you  must  not  burn  them  yet.  I 
know  you  trust  me  now,  but  there  is  that  other  possibility. 
Some  enemy  of  yours  or  mine  may  say  that  we  wrote  to 
each  other.  You  must  be  able  to  answer  that  you  have 
the  real  letters  in  your  keeping.' 

'That  is  true/  said  Montalto,  and  he  took  the  envelope 
back  from  her.  'I  will  seal  it  and  put  it  away.' 

He  went  to  her  writing-table,  and  she  followed  him  to 
light  the  little  taper  in  its  silver  stand  and  to  place  the 
sealing  wax  before  him  when  he  had  sat  down.  He 
melted  it  slowly  and  spread  a  broad  patch  upon  the  over 
lapping  point  of  the  envelope,  working  the  wax  neatly 
round  and  round  till  it  stiffened,  and  then  putting  on 
more  with  a  little  flame,  and  working  it  over  till  the  patch 
softened  again. 

'Your  seal  is  not  ready/  said  Maria,  glancing  at  the 
ring  on  his  finger.  'The  wrax  will  get  cold.' 

He  said  nothing,  but  when  he  was  ready  he  took  her 
own  seal,  which  lay  beside  the  taper-stand,  and  pressed 
it  upon  the  wax.  When  he  lifted  it,  there  was  a  clear 
impression  of  Maria's  simple  monogram,  the  doubled 


264  A   LADY    OF   ROME  PART  n 

letter  that  began  both  her  names,  encircled  by  a  little 
belt,  on  which  were  engraved  the  words  'Risurgi  e  Vinci' 
—  meaning  'Rise  again  and  overcome.'     They  are  from 
the  Paradiso  of  Dante. 

Once  more  her  eyes  grew  dim  with  gratitude,  for  she 
knew  what  he  meant  by  using  her  seal;  there  was  not 
to  be  even  the  possibility  of  a  doubt  in  her  mind  that  he 
might  ever  open  the  packet. 

He  took  her  pen  and  wrote  on  the  back,  in  his  stiff 
and  formal  handwriting. 

'In  case  of  my  death,  to  be  given  to  my  wife  at  once.' 

'Then  you  will  burn  it,  my  dear/  he  said,  showing  her 
what  he  had  written. 

As  she  stood  beside  him  her  hand  pressed  hard  upon 
his  thin  shoulder,  for  she  was  very  much  touched.  He 
looked  up,  smiling,  slipped  the  sealed  envelope  into  his 
pocket  and  rose. 

'  That  is  done,'  he  said,  '  and  we  need  never  think  of 
it  again.' 

'You  know  what  I  feel,'  she  answered  softly.  'I  can 
not  say  it.' 

They  went  back  to  the  fireplace  and  stood  side  by  side 
gazing  at  the  flames.  He  linked  his  arm  through  hers 
without  looking  at  her,  and  she  did  not  shrink  from  his 
touch,  for  she  was  thinking  only  of  his  kindness  then. 
He  pressed  her  arm  to  his  side  and  then  withdrew  his 
own  and  looked  at  his  watch. 

'I  must  be  going,'  he  said. 

'Stay  a  little  longer,'  said  she,  and  it  was  the  first  time 
she  had  ever  made  such  a  request. 


CHAP,  xvii  THK    COUNTESS    OF   MONTALTO  265 

'I  wish  I  could.  But  there  is  a  lawyer  waiting  for  me, 
and  I  must  see  him  before  dinner.' 

'A  lawyer  ?  Is  anything  wrong ?  You  looked  a  little 
tired  when  you  came  in.  Has  anything  happened?' 

'Yes,  my  dear,  and  I  wish  your  judgment  were  as 
good  as  your  heart ! '  He  smiled. 

'  My  judgment  ?     What  do  you  mean  ? ' 

*  Schmidt  disappeared  four  days  ago,  and  we  cannot 
find  any  trace  of  him.' 

Maria  was  profoundly  surprised. 

'Has  he  taken  money?'   she  asked  after  a  moment. 

'That  is  the  question.  So  far  we  cannot  find  anything 
wrong  with  his  books  nor  at  the  bank.  But  then  he  is  so 
very  " intelligent,"  you  know  !' 

He  laughed  a  little  as  he  reminded  his  wife  of  their 
conversation  at  Montalto.  It  wras  evident  that  he  did 
not  anticipate  any  heavy  loss. 

'He  was  always  a  modest  young  man,'  he  continued. 
'I  hope  he  has  not  taken  more  than  a  modest  sum  !' 

He  laughed  again,  at  his  own  little  joke,  as  slow  people 
do,  and  Maria  laughed  too,  though  rather  nervously. 

'  I  should  be  very  sorry  if  the  mistake  I  made  about  him 
caused  you  any  annoyance,'  she  said. 

'Chiefly  the  trouble  of  finding  a  good  man  to  take  his 
place,'  Montalto  said.  'The  lawyer  is  waiting,  my  dear.' 

He  laid  his  hands  on  her  shoulders  before  going  away 
and  looked  into  her  eyes.  She  knew  he  was  going  to  kiss 
her,  and  on  any  other  day  she  might  have  smiled  and 
turned  away  to  hide  the  intense  repugnance  she  felt  for 
him.  But  that  was  impossible  now ;  she  must  not  even 


266  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  n 

let  her  lids  droop,  as  if  she  did  not  wish  to  meet  his  gaze 
frankly.  Many  months  ago,  Ippolito  Saracinesca  had 
told  her  that  in  this  world  it  is  not  enough  to  do  right, 
but  one  must  also  be  seen  to  be  doing  right.  If  her  eyes 
had  wavered  just  then,  if  she  had  shrunk  from  her  hus 
band's  kiss,  there  was  just  one  possibility  that  a  doubt 
of  her  truth  might  sooner  or  later  creep  out  of  some 
hiding-place  in  his  memory  to  accuse  her. 

But  Maria  was  a  woman,  and  women  have  quick  ways 
which  we  do  not  anticipate.  Instead  of  waiting,  with 
her  eyes  in  his,  for  him  to  bend  down  and  kiss  her,  she 
put  up  her  hands  suddenly  to  draw  his  face  to  hers,  and 
kissed  him  heartily  on  both  cheeks;  to  his  infinite  de 
light,  and  not,  we  may  hope,  to  the  detriment  of  her 
truthfulness,  her  recent  resolution,  or  her  good  faith  in 
any  way.  For  no  one  can  be  held  responsible  for  a 
physical  aversion.  Many  persons  really  suffer  if  a  cat  is 
in  the  room,  and  almost  faint  if  the  creature  accidentally 
brushes  against  them.  If  any  of  them  read  these  lines, 
they  will  understand,  for  that  is  what  Maria  felt  for  the 
man  who  was  her  husband,  and  who  loved  her  almost  to 
folly. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

Two  days  later  Maria  received  a  letter  from  Naples, 
addressed  in  a  round,  commercial  handwriting.  It  came 
with  two  or  three  others,  of  which  she  guessed  the  con 
tents,  and  she  opened  it  first  from  mere  curiosity.  No 
one  had  ever  written  her  a  business  letter  from  Naples. 

The  envelope  contained  two  sheets  of  paper.  She 
spread  out  one  of  them  to  read,  but  at  the  first  glance  she 
uttered  an  exclamation  of  horror;  what  she  saw  was  a 
photographed  copy  of  one  of  Castiglione's  letters  to  her. 
Her  fingers  relaxed  and  the  first  sheet  fluttered  to  the  floor. 

The  second  lay  on  the  writing-table,  and  when  she 
could  collect  her  senses  she  saw  that  it  was  a  typewritten 
communication  demanding  the  immediate  payment  of 
one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs,  failing  which,  the 
photographed  copies  of  seven  letters  written  to  her  by 
the  Conte  del  Castiglione  would  be  reproduced  and  pub 
lished  simultaneously  in  two  newspapers,  in  Rome  and 
in  Naples.  The  money  was  to  be  forthcoming  within 
exactly  eight  days  in  the  form  of  a  cheque  to  the  bearer 
from  the  National  Bank,  to  be  addressed  to  Signor  Carlo 
Pozzi  at  the  General  Post  Office  in  Palermo,  not  regis 
tered.  If  it  was  not  received  within  eight  days,  the 
Countess  would  be  informed  of  the  fact,  and  a  duplicate 
of  the  cheque  was  to  be  sent,  not  registered,  to  Signor 

267 


268  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  n 

Paolo  Pizzuti  at  the  General  Post  Office  in  Messina.  If 
this  were  not  received,  the  writer  would  take  it  for  granted 
that  the  money  had  not  been  sent,  and  the  letters 
would  appear.  The  photographs  were  in  safe  hands,  and 
would  inevitably  be  published  at  once  if  any  attempt 
were  made  to  arrest  the  persons  who  applied  for  the  letters 
at  the  two  post  offices  named,  or  if,  subsequently,  any 
steps  were  taken  to  trace  the  writer,  either  through  the 
police  or  otherwise. 

Maria's  first  impulse  was  to  send  the  money  at  once. 
She  had  been  alone  in  the  world  so  long  that  she  was  used 
to  keeping  her  own  accounts,  and  she  knew  that  she 
possessed  more  than  the  sum  demanded,  in  the  form  of 
Government  bonds.  To  take  these  to  the  National  Bank 
and  get  a  duplicate  cheque  in  exchange  for  them  would 
be  a  simple  matter,  and  the  affair  would  be  at  an  end. 
For  her,  the  amount  was  a  large  one,  but  since  she  had 
come  back  to  her  husband  she  had  little  use  for  her  own 
fortune,  and  did  not  spend  her  income.  She  would  cer 
tainly  not  miss  the  sum.  Immediate  surrender  would 
save  Montalto  all  anxiety  and  annoyance. 

But  two  objections  to  this  course  presented  themselves 
almost  immediately,  the  one  of  a  moral  nature,  the  other 
practical.  Since  she  had  told  her  husband  everything, 
he  had  a  right  to  be  consulted.  The  original  letters 
were  in  his  possession,  and  no  longer  in  hers;  he  had 
trusted  her,  and  she  must  now  go  to  him  for  advice,  even 
if  it  troubled  him,  as  it  would,  for  if  she  did  not  consult 
him  he  would  be  justified  in  resenting  her  want  of  con 
fidence  in  him. 


CHAP,  xviii  THE    COUNTESS    OF    MONTALTO  269 

The  second  consideration  was  that  Leone  might  some 
day  need  her  money,  for  she  had  riot  the  least  idea  of  the 
contents  of  her  husband's  will.  Under  Italian  law  he 
could  not  altogether  disinherit  a  child  born  in  wedlock, 
and  even  that  moiety  of  his  fortune  which  must  come  to 
Leone  would  be  very  large.  But  Maria  felt  sure  that  he 
was  aware  of  the  truth,  and  that  many  others  suspected 
it ;  and  there  were  several  collateral  heirs  to  the  Mont- 
alto  estates,  who  would  not  hesitate  to  claim  much  more 
than  the  law  would  ever  give  them.  Besides,  there  was 
Leone  himself;  who  could  tell  by  what  ill  chance  he 
might  some  day  learn  the  story  of  his  birth  ?  If  he  ever 
did,  she  guessed  the  man  from  the  boy,  and  guessed  that 
her  son  would  not  keep  an  hour  what  was  not  universally 
admitted  to  be  his.  He  would  have  nothing,  then,  but 
what  she  could  leave  him. 

Yet,  if  only  this  second  reason  had  influenced 
her,  she  would  not  have  hesitated  to  pay  blackmail 
and  be  free.  In  the  course  of  a  few  years,  by  spending 
little  on  herself,  her  fortune  would  recover  from  the  sud 
den  demand  on  it.  On  the  other  hand,  if  she  hid  the 
truth  from  her  husband,  even  to  save  him,  and  if  he 
ever  discovered  it,  he  might  resent  the  concealment 
bitterly. 

It  was  morning,  and  she  went  to  his  study  at  once, 
taking  the  papers  with  her,  and  she  told  him  how  Schmidt 
had  stolen  the  letters  and  kept  them  some  time,  and  how 
she  had  caught  him  just  when  he  was  bringing  them  back. 
It  had  never  occurred  to  her  that  he  had  copied  them, 
still  less  that  he  had  photographed  them.  She  begged 


270  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  n 

her  husband  to  let  her  send  the  money  at  once  and  end 
the  matter. 

He  had  listened  with  a  look  of  increasing  annoyance, 
and  she  laid  the  sheets  on  the  table  before  him  when  she 
had  finished;  but  he  pushed  them  back  to  her  without 
glancing  at  them,  for  if  he  had  done  so  he  could  hardly 
have  helped  reading  some  words  of  Castiglione's  letter. 

'It  is  very  well  done/  he  said.  'Schmidt  is  a  clever 
fellow.  But  if  you  had  told  me  at  once,  he  would  have 
been  in  prison  by  this  time.  He  disappeared  on  the  third 
day  after  you  found  him  in  the  chapel.  You  must  not 
send  the  money  on  any  account.' 

Maria  saw  that  he  was  niore  displeased  than  alarmed 
at  a  possible  danger  which  looked  very  serious  to  her. 

'I  am  very  sorry/  she  said  penitently.  'What  is  to  be 
done?' 

'I  cannot  tell.  It  is  a  matter,  too,  on  which  I  cannot 
ask  advice.  There  are  things  of  which  one  does  not 
wish  to  speak,  even  to  a  lawyer.' 

He  was  evidently  very  much  annoyed;  but  she  saw 
that  she  had  done  right  in  coming  to  him,  though  it  was 
perhaps  too  late. 

'But  something  must  be  done  !'   she  protested. 

'Of  course  we  must  do  something/  he  answered,  with 
manifest  impatience.  'But  it  is  worse  than  useless 
to  act  hastily.  Give  me  time  !  I  shall  find  a  way.7 

The  words  were  not  unkind,  but  his  manner  was  petu 
lant,  like  that  of  a  nervous  man  who  is  interrupted  when 
very  busy,  and  is  made  to  take  a  great  deal  of  trouble 
against  his  inclination.  Montalto  had  always  been  in- 


CHAP,  xvm     THE  COUNTESS  OF  MONTALTO          271 

clined  to  procrastinate,  though  he  could  show  a  good 
deal  of  energy  when  forced  to  act. 

'Let  me  send  the  money,  Diego/  said  Maria  earnestly. 

' Certainly  not.  I  forbid  you  to  send  it!  Do  you 
understand  ?' 

Maria  shrank  a  little,  for  she  was  hurt  by  the  words 
and  the  tone.  Was  not  her  money  her  own,  to  use  as  she 
pleased  ?  She  checked  a  quick  reply  that  rose  to  her  lips. 

'I  shall  obey  you,'  she  answered,  an  instant  later,  as 
quietly  as  she  could. 

He  was  moving  his  papers  nervously  and  aimlessly 
from  place  to  place  on  the  table,  arranging  and  disar 
ranging  them,  but  he  looked  up  quickly  now. 

'I  did  not  mean  to  speak  as  I  did,  my  dear,'  he  said. 
'Your  money  is  yours,  and  you  will  never  need  it  again. 
You  have  a  right  to  use  it  as  you  will.  The  truth  is,  I 
am  occupied  with  a  very  complicated  question.  Forgive 
me,  if  I  was  rude.' 

1  Diego  ! '  She  stretched  her  hand  out  on  the  smooth 
table,  instantly  reconciled. 

He  patted  it  twice,  and  smiled  rather  absently.  But 
he  was  evidently  preoccupied,  and  she  rose  to  go. 

'We  will  talk  over  this  unfortunate  affair  after  lunch 
eon,'  he  said.  'Will  you  take  me  for  a  drive?  It  will 
be  easy  to  talk  in  the  carriage.' 

'Yes,  we  will  go  for  a  drive,'  she  answered. 

Standing  by  the  table,  and  watching  his  nervous  hands 
that  were  busy  with  the  papers  again,  she  unconsciously 
read  the  clearly  engrossed  superscription  on  a  heavy 
lawyer's  envelope :  — 


272  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  n 

THE  WILL  OF  His  EXCELLENCY  DON  DIEGO  SILANI, 
COUNT  OF  MONT  ALTO 

Maria  bit  her  lip  as  she  turned  away,  realising  what 
that  meant.  It  was  no  wonder  that  her  husband  was  pre 
occupied  just  then,  for  she  could  not  help  suspecting  that 
he  had  been  in  the  act  of  drafting  a  new  will  when  she 
had  interrupted  him,  and  she  guessed  that  its  tenor  would 
be  very  different  from  that  of  the  old  one  which  lay  be 
fore  him,  and  which  must  have  been  made  a  good  many 
years  ago,  for  the  thick  envelope  had  the  unmistakable, 
faded  look  of  a  document  long  put  awray  with  others. 
He  had  just  said,  too,  that  she  would  never  need  her  own 
money  again;  but  he  had  also  told  her  that  the  matter 
was  very  complicated. 

As  she  moved  away  he  rose  quickly  to  open  the  door. 
That  was  one  of  those  formal  little  acts  of  courtesy  which 
he  had  rarely  omitted  since  they  had  been  married. 

She  went  back  to  her  own  room  much  more  disturbed 
than  when  she  had  left  it  ten  minutes  earlier.  Pier 
knowledge  of  her  husband's  mind  and  character  told  her 
that  he  would  find  arguments  for  putting  off  anything 
like  real  action  until  it  might  be  too  late  to  act  at  all; 
and  yet  her  own  ultimate  advantage  was  doubtless  the 
very  reason  why  he  had  resented  being  disturbed. 

It  was  not  her  fault  if  another  image  rose  before  her 
mental  vision  just  then ;  but  she  drove  it  away  so  fiercely 
that  it  disappeared  at  once. 

That  afternoon,  when  they  were  driving  together,  they 
came  to  no  conclusion.  Montalto  was  afraid  of  being 


CHAP.  XVIII 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  MONTALTO          273 


overheard  by  the  men  on  the  box,  and  he  talked  in  French. 
But  he  was  less  at  home  in  that  language  than  most 
Romans  are,  and  found  it  much  more  easy  to  say  what  he 
knew  how  to  say,  than  to  express  what  he  really  meant. 
Maria  did  not  know  Spanish,  which  he  now  spoke  better 
than  Italian,  from  having  lived  in  Spain  and  spoken 
it  with  his  mother  during  so  many  years.  Maria  chafed 
as  she  felt  that  precious  time  was  passing,  and  that  such 
a  wretched  obstacle  as  a  servant  not  quite  certainly 
within  hearing  was  making  it  impossible  to  talk  freely. 

In  the  evening  he  was  tired,  and  at  first  almost  re 
fused  to  refer  to  the  subject.  He  said  at  last,  however, 
that  Schmidt  was  evidently  in  collusion  with  the  South 
Italian  gangs  of  malefactors,  with  the  Camorra  of  Naples 
and  the  Mala  Vita  of  Palermo.  The  letter  showed  this 
plainly  enough,  he  said,  and  those  people  were  capable 
of  anything,  especially  including  murder.  To  try  and 
catch  Signer  Carlo  Pozzi  or  Signer  Paolo  Pizzuti  would  be 
folly ;  no  such  persons  existed,  and  if  any  one  represent 
ing  himself  as  either  at  a  post  office  were  actually  arrested, 
it  would  be  impossible  to  extract  a  word  from  him. 
Those  men  would  go  silently  to  prison  for  years,  rather 
than  betray  an  accomplice  and  be  knived  or  shot  in  the 
back  for  it  within  twenty-four  hours.  There  were  many 
instances  of  this,  Montalto  said,  and  Schmidt  had  given 
another  proof  of  his  intelligence  in  demanding  that  the 
money  should  be  paid  through  the  Camorra  or  the  Mala 
Vita.  He  added  petulantly  that  he  wished  Schmidt 
were  with  him  still,  because  only  Schmidt  could  be  clever 
enough  to  catch  himself. 


274  A    LADY    OF    ROME 

Maria  tried  to  laugh,  and  this  put  her  husband  in  a 
better  humour.  He  said  the  simplest  thing  was  to  have 
a  circular  note  from  the  Chief  of  Police  sent  to  the  Italian 
press,  informing  all  the  responsible  editors  of  the  dailies 
that  an  outrageous  plot  was  on  foot  to  attack  the  reputa 
tion  of  a  lady  of  Rome  by  offering  for  publication  certain 
alleged  reproductions  of  letters  already  in  the  possession 
of  her  husband,  who  would  bring  an  action,  in  the  most 
public  way,  against  any  newspaper  that  even  alluded  to 
them.  Maria  answered  that  such  a  plan  would  succeed 
admirably  with  the  respectable  papers ;  but  that,  unfor 
tunately,  there  were  some  which  were  just  the  contrary, 
and  whose  owners  desired  nothing  better  in  the  way  of  an 
advertisement  than  to  be  sued  for  libel,  for  collusion  in 
forgery  accessory  after  the  fact,  or  for  any  other  scandal 
ous  offence,  because  nothing  would  delight  a  certain  class 
of  their  readers  and  increase  their  circulation  so  much  as 
to  see  the  name  of  the  Countess  of  Montalto  or  any  other 
Roman  lady  dragged  through  the  mud. 

This  was  unfortunately  true,  for  Rome  was  much  dis 
turbed  at  that  time  by  a  revolutionary  element  of  the 
most  despicable  sort,  which  was  stirring  up  strife  in  every 
way,  and  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  frequent  strikes, 
almost  every  one  of  which  led  to  some  open  disturbance 
little  short  of  a  riot.  That  was  the  public  that  supported 
the  disreputable  papers,  Maria  said,  and  it  would  treble 
the  circulation  of  any  one  of  them  that  published  a  scan 
dalous  attack  on  decent  people. 

Maria  knew  far  more  about  the  condition  of  Rome 
and  Italy  than  Montalto.  He  had  exiled  himself  from 


CHAP.  XVIII 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  MONTALTO         275 


his  country  for  years,  and  had  taken  little  interest  in 
what  happened  there,  whereas  his  wife  had  always  been 
on  intimate  terms  with  Giuliana  Parenzo,  whose  hus 
band  was  now  Under  Secretary  for  Foreign  Affairs,  after 
having  been  connected  with  the  Government  ever  since 
he  had  left  the  University  of  Bologna. 

It  did  not  occur  to  Montalto  to  smile  at  the  thought  of 
having  spent  some  time  every  evening  in  giving  Maria  a 
summary  of  the  news  he  gathered  chiefly  from  the  Vatican 
newspapers.  On  the  contrary,  he  felt  quite  sure  that  he 
understood  the  situation  much  better  than  she  did, 
and  he  suddenly  forgot  the  matter  in  hand  and  tried  to 
launch  upon  one  of  those  arguments  in  favour  of  the 
restoration  of  the  Temporal  Power,  in  which  he  delighted 
to  engage  with  Monsignor  Saracinesca. 

But  Maria  refused  to  be  led  so  far,  and  only  said  it 
was  a  matter  she  did  not  understand.  She  saw  it  was 
useless  to  bring  him  back  to  the  point  just  then,  so  she 
listened  quietly  while  he  talked  alone,  till  it  was  much 
later  than  usual.  Then  he  solemnly  conducted  her 
to  her  own  door,  kissed  her  hand  with  a  formal  bow, 
while  pressing  it  affectionately,  and  bade  her  good 
night. 

She  felt  almost  desperate  for  a  little  while  after  she 
had  dismissed  her  maid,  for  the  first  of  the  eight  days  was 
gone,  and  she  saw  no  reason  why  Montalto  should  be  any 
nearer  to  a  conclusion  a  week  hence  than  now.  When 
he  thought  that  a  question  concerned  his  conscience  or 
the  welfare  of  his  soul,  even  in  the  most  distant  manner, 
she  knew  that  he  could  make  up  his  mind  in  twenty-four 


276  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  11 

hours  as  to  what  was  right,  and  would  certainly  act  on 
his  decision  at  once.  But  in  other  matters  eight  days 
would  seem  to  him  as  good  as  a  year,  and  having  gen 
erously  accepted  Maria's  assurance  that  the  letters  were  in 
themselves  perfectly  innocent,  he  could  hardly  believe 
that  there  was  any  real  danger.  It  seemed  almost  cer 
tain  that  he  would  reach  no  conclusion,  and  that  they 
would  be  published  before  he  could  be  induced  to  take 
any  steps. 

Again,  as  she  lay  awake  in  the  quiet  night,  Maria  saw 
Castiglione's  resolute  face  before  her  as  clearly  as  if  he 
had  been  standing  in  the  room.  She  always  slept  in  the 
dark,  but  she  sat  up  in  bed  and  covered  her  eyes  with 
both  her  hands,  and  prayed  aloud  that  the  vision  might 
not  disturb  her.  She  was  so  sure  that  he  would  have 
known  what  to  do  at  once,  and  would  have  done  it  with 
ruthless  energy. 

Her  prayers,  or  her  will,  or  both,  drove  away  the 
thought  of  him,  and  by  and  by  she  fell  asleep  in  spite  of 
her  trouble,  and  did  not  wake  till  daylight. 

She  would  not  go  to  her  husband's  study  again  in  the 
morning,  for  he  was  without  doubt  still  busy  over  the 
drafting  of  his  will,  and  it  would  be  foolish  to  run  the  risk 
of  disturbing  him.  She  felt  very  helpless.  She  had  last 
seen  the  letters  on  that  night  in  the  chapel,  when  she  had 
hastily  glanced  over  them  to  be  sure  that  nothing  was 
missing ;  for  when  she  had  gone  back  to  her  room  she  had 
resolutely  locked  them  up.  That  had  been  the  night  fol 
lowing  the  day  of  her  meeting  with  Castiglione  in  the  lift, 
when  she  had  struggled  so  hard  with  herself,  and  had 


CHAP,  xvin         THE    COUNTESS     OF    MONTALTO  277 

made  her  great  resolution  to  put  away  his  memory  for 
the  rest  of  her  life. 

The  phrases  came  back  to  her  now,  some  vividly,  some 
only  very  vaguely;  but  there  was  the  photograph  of  a 
part  of  one  to  help  her.  She  tried  to  think  of  herself 
as  another  woman  coming  to  her  for  help,  in  order  to 
judge  coldly  of  the  effect  such  words  must  make  on  any 
one  who  should  read  them  without  knowing  the  truth 
she  had  called  innocent;  and  in  an  instant  it  was  dread 
fully  clear  to  her  that  they  could  only  be  interpreted  in 
one  way.  Castiglione  had  never  had  the  gift  of  writing  ; 
he  had  not  been  able  to  speak  eloquently  and  convin 
cingly  of  a  spiritual  love  in  which  he  could  not  believe. 
He  had  only  found  words  to  tell  her  that  he  loved  her, 
that  she  was  his  queen  of  love,  his  idol,  the  saint  on  the 
altar  of  his  heart,  that  he  would  do  his  best  to  be  what  she 
wished  him  to  be,  and  that  he  honoured  and  respected 
her  above  and  beyond  all  things  visible  and  invisible. 

Would  any  one  believe  that  such  language  was  inno 
cent?  Would  any  one  but  her  husband  have  believed 
her  when  she  said  it  was?  Giuliana  Parenzo  had  told 
her  plainly  that  such  a  relation  as  she  had  dreamt  of  was 
impossible ;  so  had  Monsignor  Saracinesca ;  and  the  im 
placable  Capuchin  had  refused  his  absolution  so  long  as 
she  even  entertained  the  thought  of  it.  The  world 
would  most  assuredly  not  believe  that  she  had  been  with 
out  fault  during  those  weeks ;  it  was  both  futile  and  fool 
ish  to  hope  that  it  would. 

The  day  passed  as  she  had  expected.  She  met  Mont- 
alto  at  luncheon,  and  Leone  was  at  the  table  as  usual, 


278  A    LADY    OF   ROME 


PART   II 


so  that  it  was  impossible  to  allude  to  the  subject.  Her 
husband  looked  at  the  handsome  boy  affectionately 
from  time  to  time,  and  then  at  Maria,  and  talked  of  little 
matters;  Leone  chattered  of  horses,  and  Maria  encour 
aged  him,  because  she  herself  could  find  so  little  to  say. 

'Why  don't  you  have  a  racing  stable,  papa ?'  he  asked 
at  last.  'You  know  quite  enough  about  it,  I'm  sure; 
and  when  I'm  a  little  bigger  I  could  be  your  jockey  !  It 
would  be  such  fun,  and  between  us  we  should  win  every 
thing!' 

Maria  laughed  a  little.  Her  husband  smiled  kindly 
and  shook  his  head. 

'My  dear  little  man/  he  said,  'when  you  are  the  mas 
ter  of  Montalto  and  have  a  boy  of  your  own,  you  may 
keep  a  racing  stable  if  you  like  and  let  your  son  ride  races 
for  you.  But  I  am  not  going  to  encourage  you  to  break 
your  neck !  Do  you  remember  that  poor  lad  who  was 
killed  at  the  Capannelle  ? ' 

'Yes,'  Leone  answered,  growing  suddenly  grave,  for 
he  had  been  taken  to  the  races  for  the  first  time  on  that 
day,  and  had  seen  the  fatal  accident.  '  But  I  shall  never 
be  the  master,  papa,  you  know.' 

Maria's  face  changed,  and  she  looked  down  at  her 
plate. 

'Why  not?'   asked  her  husband,  smiling  again. 

'Because  I  couldn't  be,  unless  you  were  dead.  And 
that's  ridiculous ! ' 

'W^e  shall  see,  my  boy,  we  shall  see/  answered  Mont- 
alto.  'At  all  events  we  need  not  talk  about  dying  yet. 
You  are  quite  right  about  that.' 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  MONTALTO          279 

The  words  made  a  deep  impression  on  Maria,  who  knew 
that  he  was  making  a  new  will.  He  could  only  mean  that 
Leone  was  to  have  Montalto,  which  it  would  have  been 
in  his  power  to  leave  to  another  branch  of  his  family, 
or  indeed  to  any  one  he  pleased;  and  Montalto  meant 
everything.  She  could  not  doubt  that  he  knew  per 
fectly  well  what  he  was  doing;  he  had  added  one  more 
generous  deed  to  the  many  he  had  done  in  the  course  of 
that  large  forgiveness  that  had  brought  him  back  to  her. 

He  could  do  such  things  as  this,  and  yet  he  could  riot 
lift  his  hand  to  hinder  a  disaster  that  might  wreck  the 
honour  of  his  name,  with  her  own,  and  Leone's.  He 
went  out  after  luncheon,  saying  that  he  had  an  appoint 
ment,  and  she  did  not  see  him  till  dinner-time,  when 
Leone  always  had  his  supper  with  them,  unless  some  one 
came  to  dine.  And  later  he  was  in  the  loving  mood  she 
dreaded  most.  The  second  of  the  eight  days  had  passed 
and  nothing  had  been  done  yet.  After  two  or  three  more 
like  these,  the  situation  would  become  absolutely  des 
perate. 

Maria  made  up  her  mind  that  night  that  if  her  husband 
came  to  no  decision  in  twenty-four  hours,  she  would  go 
to  the  National  Bank  and  buy  the  cheques.  After  all  it 
was  better  to  disobey  Montalto's  express  injunction,  if 
obedience  was  to  mean  ruin. 

She  longed  intensely  for  help,  but  there  was  none  in 
sight.  She  could  not  tell  Giuliana  all  that  had  passed 
between  her  husband  and  herself  to  bring  about  the 
present  situation ;  still  less  could  she  appeal  to  Monsignor 
Saracinesca,  who  knew  very  little  of  the  truth. 


280  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  n 

On  the  next  day  Montalto  talked  again  about  a  circu 
lar  notice  to  the  press,  saying  there  was  plenty  of  time, 
because  the  blackmailer's  letter  did  not  say  that  the 
letters  would  be  published  in  eight  days,  but  that  if  the 
money  had  not  been  received  by  that  time  a  second  de 
mand  would  be  sent  to  Maria,  on  the  supposition  that 
the  first  draft  might  have  been  lost,  which  would  mean 
a  lapse  of  several  days  more. 

'Let  us  go  together  to  the  Chief  of  Police/"  entreated 
Maria.  'We  need  only  say  that  it  concerns  certain  old 
letters,  in  your  possession,  wrhich  might  compromise  me.' 

'That  is  quite  impossible,  my  dear,  without  very 
mature  reflection/  answered  Montalto,  with  exasperating 
calm. 

'  But  surely  we  have  been  reflecting  these  three  days ! 
If  you  do  not  go  to  the  police,  how  can  you  ever  get  a 
circular  sent  to  the  press?' 

'  But,  my  dear  child,  there  is  really  no  such  hurry ! ' 

He  did  not  often  call  her  his  '  dear  child ' ;  it  was  one 
of  his  small  ways  of  showing  that  he  was  impatient,  and 
she  understood  at  once  that  it  was  of  no  use  to  insist. 

'Diego/  she  said,  'unless  you  can  find  some  better 
way,  I  shall  send  the  money  to-morrow,  although  you 
forbade  me  to  do  so,  and  I  promised  to  obey  you.' 

'My  dear  Maria/  he  cried,  almost  angrily,  'how  you 
take  up  every  word  I  say  !  I  certainly  apologised  to  you 
for  using  such  an  expression  as  "forbid/'  so,  for  heaven's 
sake,  let  us  say  no  more  about  it !  I  only  beg  you  not 
to  submit  to  this  outrageous  extortion.  I  entreat  you 
not  to  send  the  money.  That  is  all  I  mean  to  say.' 


CHAP,  xvm  THE    COUNTESS     OF    MONTALTO  281 

'I'm  very  sorry/  Maria  answered;  'but  unless  some 
better  way  can  be  found,  I  shall  have  to  pay.' 

'It  is  madness/  said  Montalto;    'pure  madness!' 

And,  to  her  great  surprise,  he  got  up  abruptly  and  left 
the  room  without  another  word,  evidently  much  dis 
pleased. 

For  the  third  time  she  saw  Castiglione's  resolute  face 
before  her,  as  distinctly  as  if  he  had  been  in  the  room, 
and  the  vision  came  so  unexpectedly  that  she  felt  her 
heart  leap,  and  drew  a  sharp  breath.  It  was  so  sudden 
that  a  few  seconds  passed  before  she  made  that  honest 
effort  of  will  that  was  necessary  to  drive  away  the  thought 
of  him.  When  it  was  gone  she  felt  more  desperate  than 
before.  She  went  and  stood  at  a  window  that  looked 
over  the  square;  it  was  past  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morn 
ing,  the  day  was  rainy,  and  the  square  was  almost  empty. 
Three  cabs  were  on  the  stand,  and  the  huge  umbrellas 
concealed  the  dozing  cabmen.  The  horses  in  their  shiny 
waterproofs  hung  their  heads  far  down,  as  if  they  were 
contemplating  their  more  or  less  broken  knees,  a  melan 
choly  sight  indeed. 

Here  and  there  a  stray  pedestrian  came  in  sight  for  a 
few  moments,  hurrying  along  by  the  wall  and  presently 
disappearing  into  a  side  street;  a  poor  woman  with  a 
torn  green  shawl  over  her  head  dripping  with  water,  a 
student  with  an  umbrella  and  some  books  under  his  arm, 
a  policeman  in  an  indiarubber  hood  and  cloak,  a  priest  in 
a  long  black  overcoat  and  shoes  with  silver  buckles. 
He  had  no  umbrella,  and  he  made  straight  for  one  of 
the  three  cabs,  diving  in  under  the  hood  and  apron  with 


282  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  n 

more  agility  than  dignity.  Maria  watched  the  dismal 
scene  with  a  sort  of  depressed  interest.  Nothing  made 
any  difference,  till  she  could  see  clearly  what  was 
right,  for  she  was  sure  that  the  question  of  right  and 
wrong  was  involved.  Would  it  be  wrong  to  pay  no 
attention  to  her  husband's  entreaty  that  the  money 
should  not  be  sent?  Or  would  it  be  right?  Or  would 
it  be  neither,  and  yet  be  a  mistake?  She  groped  for 
some  answer  and  could  find  none.  She  wanted  some 
strong  and  energetic  friend  to  help  her,  some  one  with 
decision  and  character,  even  if  not  very  wise,  some  man 
who  would  fight  for  her  or  tell  her  how  to  defend 
herself. 

She  crossed  the  room  and  came  back  aimlessly,  and 
looked  out  once  more.  Her  husband  would  have  told 
her  that  even  if  she  could  not  be  seen  from  below,  a 
Roman  lady  must  never  look  out  of  a  window  in  town. 
She  could  hear  him  say  it !  But  when  she  looked  this 
time,  another  of  the  cabs  was  gone.  Her  old  travelling 
clock  on  the  writing-table  struck  eleven  and  chimed  the 
quarter ;  she  turned  and  looked  at  it,  and  her  mind  was 
made  up.  There  was  still  one  cab  left  on  the  stand,  and 
there  was  still  time.  Three  minutes  later  she  was  down 
stairs  and  under  the  dripping  hood,  with  the  leathern 
apron  hooked  up  as  high  as  her  chin. 

'What  address,  Excellency?'  inquired  the  porter, 
respectfully. 

'The  Capuchins,  in  Piazza  Barberini.' 

The  porter  repeated  the  words  to  the  cabman  in  his 
sternest  tones,  as  if  he  were  ordering  that  her  Excellency 


CHAP,  xvm  THE    COUNTESS    OF    MONT  ALTO  283 

should  be  taken  directly  to  prison,  and  the  cab  rumbled 
out  from  under  the  deep  archway. 

She  was  not  going  for  the  sake  of  confession,  for  she 
was  not  conscious  of  having  anything  on  her  conscience, 
but  it  would  be  just  as  well  to  go  through  what  would 
be  little  more  than  a  form,  in  order  to  ask  what  her  duty 
was.  That  seemed  to  be  the  point.  At  a  very  critical 
juncture  in  her  life  she  turned  neither  to  Giu liana  Parenzo, 
her  intimate  friend,  nor  to  Don  Ippolito  Saracinesca; 
he  was  Montalto's  friend,  and  she  could  not  put  him  in 
the  position  of  advising  her  to  do  what  was  precisely  con 
trary  to  her  husband's  wishes;  and,  moreover,  courage 
ous  as  he  was,  she  did  not  feel  that  he  was  a  fighting 
man.  She  went  to  the  grim,  uncompromising  old  monk; 
according  to  his  lights  he  would  tell  her  what  he  thought, 
without  the  slightest  regard  for  her  feelings. 

Maria  would  not  have  admitted  that  Montalto's  hesi 
tation  filled  her  with  contempt.  How  could  she  despise 
the  husband  who  overwhelmed  her  with  undeserved 
kindness  and  almost  fantastic  generosity? 

I  once  knew  a  most  refined  and  cultivated  epicure 
who  sometimes  felt  an  irresistible  craving  for  a  piece  of 
coarse  dry  bread  and  a  raw  onion,  and  would  go  out 
secretly  and  buy  those  things,  and  eat  them  greedily  in 
the  privacy  of  his  own  dressing-room,  after  locking  the 
door  lest  his  own  servant  should  catch  him.  I  have  also 
heard  of  women  who  would  rather  be  beaten  black  and 
blue  by  their  husbands  than  be  treated  with  indifference. 

At  that  juncture  Maria's  conscience  and  heart  craved 
stronger  and  rougher  stuff  than  was  to  be  found  in 


284  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  n 

her  husband's  nervous  and  hesitating  character.  She 
wanted  some  one  to  direct  her  authoritatively,  even 
rudely,  and  she  went  to  the  Capuchin  because  she  recog 
nised  in  him  the  born  fighting  man  as  well  as  the  un 
compromising  ascetic.  If  he  thought  she  ought  to  de 
fend  herself  energetically,  he  would  tell  her  that  she 
must  fight,  or  be  guilty  of  the  mortal  sin  of  sloth ;  if  he 
believed  that  mortification  of  the  flesh  wras  necessary  to 
the  salvation  of  her  soul  she  was  sure  that  he  would  order 
her  to  walk  barefoot  from  Rome  to  Naples,  and  would 
be  very  much  surprised  if  she  objected  to  such  a  penance. 
He  had  not  outlived  the  thirteenth  century,  in  which 
his  Order  had  been  founded.  What  had  been  good  for 
sinners  then  was  excellent  for  them  now.  If  civilisa 
tion  was  to  extend  to  morality  and  change  the  soul's 
requirements,  then  the  Church  must  change  too,  and  as 
this  was  manifestly  impossible,  the  hypothesis  was  con 
trary  to  sense.  His  reasoning  was  sound,  though  his 
application  of  the  truth  he  demonstrated  was  sometimes 
severe  to  the  point  of  being  quite  impracticable.  He 
shook  his  head,  for  instance,  when  he  was  told  that  vari 
ous  bacilli  flourished  on  the  pavement  of  his  church,  and 
that  it  was  not  hygienic  for  penitents  to  kiss  the  stones 
twenty-five  times  between  the  door  and  the  altar  rail. 
He  said  there  had  been  no  bacilli  when  he  was  young, 
and  that  the  floor  was  swept  every  day. 

Maria  asked  for  Padre  Bonaventura.  The  lay  brother 
did  not  know  whether  he  was  in  the  monastery  at  that 
hour.  Would  he  kindly  go  and  ask?  Certainly,  but 
would  the  lady  kindly  give  her  name  ?  Maria  hesitated. 


CHAP,  xvin  THE     COUNTESS     OF     MONTALTO  285 

'Please  say  that  a  Roman  lady  is  here  who  confessed 
to  him  ten  days  ago,  and  also  last  May. 

The  lay  brother  hastened  away,  slapping  the  damp 
marble  pavement  with  his  wet  sandals,  and  the  Countess 
did  not  wait  long.  The  monk  appeared  almost  imme 
diately,  and  went  before  her  to  a  confessional  box,  just 
bending  his  head  a  little  as  he  passed  her,  but  not  even 
glancing  at  her  unveiled  face.  Her  message  had  ex 
plained  enough,  and  he  had  no  wish  to  discover  her 
identity.  He  probably  thought  she  had  already 
failed  in  her  good  resolution  and  had  come  to  tell 
him  so. 

But  he  was  mistaken;  though  he  asked  her  several 
searching  questions,  she  answered  them  all  without 
hesitation,  and  then  told  him  the  story  of  the  letters 
and  spoke  of  her  husband's  hesitations  and  of  her  own 
fears ;  and  at  last  she  put  the  case  directly :  Would  it 
be  wrong  to  act  contrary  to  his  expressed  wish  or  not? 
That  was  what  she  had  come  to  ask. 

The  monk  was  silent  for  a  few  moments,  and  then 
asked  her  a  question  in  his  harsh,  unforgiving  tone. 

'What  is  the  character  of  the  man  who  wrote  those 
letters  ?  Is  he  what  is  called  a  man  of  honour  ? ' 

Maria,  on  the  other  side  of  the  perforated  brass  plate, 
straightened  herself  unconsciously  as  if  she  had  been 
offended  in  the  street. 

'He  is  brave  and  honourable/  she  answered  proudly, 
after  an  instant. 

'Very  well.  I  suppose  he  is  a  gentleman  at  large,  a 
noble  without  occupation  in  life,  is  he  not  ? ' 


286  A    LADY    OF    ROME 

'On  the  contrary,  he  is  an  officer  in  active  service/ 

'Very  good.     So  much  the  better.' 

She  thought  the  old  monk's  voice  softened  a  little. 
She  was  quite  sure  it  was  less  harsh.  He  had  pronounced 
the  words  4'a  noble  without  occupation'  with  an  accent 
of  profound  contempt,  and  Maria  did  not  see  how  the 
fact  of  being  an  officer  in  the  Italian  Army  could  be  a 
recommendation  in  the  eyes  of  a  bare-footed  friar  whose 
political  opinions  might  reasonably  be  thought  to  be 
those  of  Gregory  Seventh  or  Pope  Alexander  Third. 
But  Maria  said  nothing,  and  waited  for  another  ques 
tion.  It  came,  in  a  kindly  lone. 

'If  you  thought  I  could  help  you  in  your  trouble, 
should  you  have  any  objection  to  telling  me  the  officer's 
name  ? ' 

Maria  was  so  much  surprised  that  she  did  not  answer 
at  once.  In  all  her  experience  of  confessors  —  and  her 
life  had  brought  her  to  many  —  none  had  ever  inquired 
the  name  of  any  person  she  spoke  of. 

'Not  yours,'  the  monk  added,  before  she  spoke.  'I 
do  not  know  who  you  are,  and  I  never  shall  try  to  find 
out.  But  if  you  will  tell  me  the  name  of  the  officer, 
I  think  I  can  help  you,  provided  you  will  trust  me. 
I  cannot  advise  you  to  send  money  to  the  thief,  any 
more  than  I  can  suggest  any  other  plan  of  action  for  you. 
I  can  only  offer  my  own  help/ 

'  But  what  can  you  do  ? '  Maria  asked  in  a  puzzled 
tone. 

'Have  you  finished  your  confession?' 

'  Yes/ 


CHAP,  xvni  THE    COUNTESS   OF    MONT  ALTO  287 

'  Say  the  Act  of  Contrition.' 

Maria  obeyed,  and  immediately  the  monk  pronounced 
the  words  of  absolution.  When  all  was  finished,  and 
after  a  short  pause,  he  spoke  again. 

'This  matter  on  which  you  have  consulted  me  has 
nothing  to  do  with  the  confessional/  he  said.  'Perhaps 
you  would  like  to  go  and  sit  down  quietly  for  a  few 
minutes  raid  think  it  over.  I  will  wait  in  the  chapel,  by 
the  door  of  the  sacristy.  If  you  decide  to  trust  me,  come 
back  and  tell  me  the  officer's  name  and  give  me  some 
address  where  I  may  find  him,  for  I  must  see  him  alone. 
If  you  decide  not  to  do  this,  you  need  only  leave  the 
church  without  coming  back  to  me.  I  shall  understand.' 

'  Yes.     Thank  you.     I  will  go  and  collect  my  thoughts.' 

She  rose,  went  to  a  little  distance,  and  sat  down  on  a 
straw  chair.  It  was  all  very  strange,  but  the  stern  old 
Capuchin  inspired  her  with  respect  and  confidence.  She 
could  trust  him  at  least  not  to  lead  her  into  doing  any 
thing  wrong,  and  if  it  were  not  wrong  that  he  should  go 
from  her  to  the  man  she  loved,  she  could  allow  herself 
to  believe  that  a  sort  of  link  was  made  which  was  better 
than  utter  estrangement.  Even  that  did  not  seem  to  be 
quite  without  danger,  but  the  monk  was  there  between 
them,  austere  and  unforgiving.  She  left  her  chair  very 
soon  and  went  back  to  the  chapel,  where  he  was  kneeling 
on  the  step  of  the  altar.  As  she  came  near  he  rose  slowly 
to  his  feet,  and  she  looked  at  his  face  attentively  for  the 
first  time.  He  had  a  rough-hewn  head,  with  great  gaunt 
features  that  made  her  think  of  an  old  eagle.  She 
came  to  him,  and  looked  up  trustfully  as  she  spoke. 


288  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  n 

'His  name  is  Baldassare  del  Castiglione,  and  he  is  a 
captain  in  the  Piedmont  Lancers.  I  do  not  know 
where  he  lives.' 

'I  can  get  his  address  from  the  barracks.  Will  you 
come  here  to-morrow  evening,  towards  twenty-three 
o'clock  or  half-past  ? ' 

'Yes,  I  will  be  here.     Thank  you.' 

She  had  a  very  vague  idea  as  to  what  time  twenty- 
three  o'clock  might  be,  for  she  belonged  to  the  younger 
generation,  and  she  was  going  to  ask  him  to  tell  her, 
but  he  left  her  without  waiting  for  her  to  speak  again, 
and  disappeared  into  the  sacristy. 

As  she  went  out  of  the  church  she  heard  the  midday 
gun,  and  all  the  bells  began  to  ring.  It  was  still  raining, 
and  she  trod  daintily  and  packed  herself  into  the  drip 
ping  cab  and  went  home,  wondering  whether  any  woman 
she  knew  had  lived  a  life  so  strange  as  hers,  or  had  ever 
accepted  help  from  such  an  unlikely  quarter. 

After  all,  it  was  but  to  wait  one  day  more,  and  that 
would  be  the  fourth,  and  the  draft  could  still  reach 
Palermo  in  time. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

ON  the  following  morning  Castiglione's  orderly  had  a 
severe  shock.  The  Captain  had  been  in  the  saddle 
early,  and  hard  at  work,  and  as  it  had  rained  heavily 
on  the  previous  day  and  night,  he  and  his  charger  had 
come  in  looking  as  if  they  had  taken  a  mud-bath  together. 
If  Castiglione  had  known  Greek,  he  might  have  thought 
of  Hector  declining  Hecuba's  invitation  to  go  up  and  pray 
at  the  temple  of  Zeus,  on  the  ground  that  he  was  not  fit 
to  be  seen.  The  orderly  was  doing  what  he  could  for 
boots  and  breeches  when  the  bell  rang.  He  opened  the 
door  and  beheld  an  old  Capuchin  monk  whose  gaunt  head 
towered  far  above  his  own.  But  this  was  not  what  sur 
prised  him,  for  mendicant  brothers  and  nuns  of  various 
charitable  Orders  carne  at  intervals  to  ask  for  alms 
at  every  landing  of  the  apartment  house.  When  Cas 
tiglione  was  in,  he  gave  them  a  few  pennies;  his  chum 
rarely  gave  anything.  To-day  Castiglione  was  at  home 
and  his  friend  was  out ;  this  meant  pennies. 

'I  will  ask  the  Captain,'  said  the  trooper  civilly,  leav 
ing  the  door  open  and  turning  to  go  into  the  sitting-room. 

Then  came  the  shock. 

'Excuse  me,  but  I  wish  to  see  the  Conte  del  Castig 
lione  on  private  business,'  said  the  monk.  'Be  good 
enough  to  give  him  my  card.' 

u  289 


290  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  n 

Now  the  trooper  was  a  young  man  who  came  of  decent 
people  in  Umbria,  and  had  been  brought  up  in  the  fear 
of  God,  and  went  to  hear  a  mass  now  and  then  on  a 
Sunday  when  he  had  time.  But  the  idea  that  a  bare 
footed  friar  could  ever,  under  any  conceivable  circum 
stances,  have  private  business  with  an  officer  of  the 
Piedmont  Lancers  had  never  presented  itself  to  him. 
He  stood  staring  at  the  card  like  an  idiot. 

'  That  is  my  name/  the  monk  said  impatiently.  '  Padre 
Bonaventura  of  the  Capuchins.' 

'I  can  read/  answered  the  orderly,  offended. 

'But  apparently/  retorted  the  monk,  'you  cannot 
walk.  Now  take  my  card  to  the  Captain,  and  say  that 
I  must  see  him  on  private  business  of  the  utmost  im 
portance  to  him,  and  at  once.  Right  about  face, 
march ! ' 

The  order  was  delivered  in  such  a  commanding  tone, 
and  with  such  a  military  air,  that  the  trooper  obeyed 
mechanically,  swung  round  on  his  heels,  and  tramped 
into  the  sitting-room  with  the  card  and  the  message, 
shutting  the  door  behind  him.  When  he  reappeared  a 
moment  later,  he  left  it  open,  stood  at  attention  while 
the  monk  went  in,  and  then  shut  it  after  him.  He  re 
turned  to  his  master's  boots  fully  resolved  to  play  at  the 
public  lottery  with  the  numbers  corresponding  to  'Capu 
chin/  'officer/  and  'surprise'  in  the  Book  of  Dreams, 
which  contains  the  correct  numbers  for  everything  under 
the  sun  except  winning. 

The  sunshine  was  streaming  into  the  sitting-room  when 
Padre  Bonaventura  entered,  and  Castiglione  stood  near 


CHAP,  xix  THE    COUNTESS    OF    MONT  ALTO  291 

the  door  to  receive  him,  in  slippers  and  a  brown  dressing- 
gown  of  nearly  the  same  colour  as  his  visitor's  frock. 

'As  your  business  is  urgent,  Father,  you  will  excuse? 
my  appearance/  he  said  politely,  but  with  distinct  cold 
ness,  for  he  was  almost  as  much  surprised  as  his  orderly 
had  been.  'May  I  ask  what  brings  you  to  see  me?' 

Padre  Bonaventura  looked  round  the  room,  and  then 
at  Castigiione. 

'Shall  we  be  interrupted  here?'  he  inquired.  'My 
errand  is  very  private/ 

Castigiione 's  bright  blue  eyes  scrutinised  the  monk's 
great  head  and  eagle  features.  Being  tolerably  satisfied 
that  the  man  was  a  genuine  Capuchin  and  not  a  dis 
guised  thief,  he  opened  the  door  and  called  to  his  orderly. 

'Let  no  one  come  in,'  he  said,  and  he  came  back  at 
once. 

The  two  sat  down  on  straight  chairs  by  a  table  and 
looked  at  each  other. 

'I  come  to  you  on  behalf  of  a  Roman  lady,'  the  monk 
began. 

'A  lady!' 

Castigiione  moved  and  his  face  hardened  at  once.  He 
thought  he  had  been  mistaken  after  all,  and  that  his 
visitor  was  some  scoundrel  in  disguise,  whom  he  should 
presently  throw  downstairs  or  hand  over  to  the  police. 

'I  do  not  know  her  name,'  continued  Padre  Bonaven 
tura  with  perfect  calm.  'She  only  told  me  yours  yester 
day.  She  has  been  to  confess  to  me  three  times  since 
last  May.  She  is  in  great  danger  and  you  must  help  her.' 

A  romantic  foreigner  might  have  scented  some  strange 


292  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  11 

mystery  of  the  imaginary  Italian  life  described  by  Eng 
lish  poets.  Castiglione,  who  knew  his  own  country  well, 
only  suspected  that  a  fraud  was  being  attempted,  with 
a  view  to  extracting  money  from  him ;  or  else  that  the 
monk  was  the  ignoble  emissary  of  some  one  of  the  fair 
and  free  who  live  between  two  worlds  and  feed  the  altar 
of  Ashtaroth  with  human  sacrifice. 

'Unless  you  can  be  more  explicit/  he  said  coldly , 
'I  shall  not  listen  to  any  more  of  this.' 

An  angry  light  came  into  the  old  Capuchin's  deep-set 
eyes,  for  he  understood  what  Castiglione  was  thinking. 
But  he  checked  the  retort  and  told  the  facts  quickly. 

'  The  lady  has  seven  letters  written  to  her  by  you  during 
last  April  and  May/ 

The  soldier's  manner  changed  instantly. 

'Have  you  come  from  her  to  bring  them  back  to  me. 
Father?'  he  asked  sadly. 

'No.  They  were  stolen  by  a  steward,  photographed, 
and  returned.  The  man  has  absconded,  and  he,  or  his 
accomplices,  demand  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 
francs ;  if  the  money  is  not  paid  in  four  days,  the  letters 
will  be  published  here  and  in  Naples.' 

'Not  if  I  am  alive,'  said  Castiglione,  whose  face  was 
not  good  to  see  just  then,  though  he  sat  quite  quietly 
in  his  chair. 

Padre  Bonaventura  was  so  much  pleased  with  this 
answer  that  he  actually  smiled.  It  was  rather  a 
grim  performance  of  its  kind,  but  it  was  unmistakably 
meant  to  express  satisfaction.  The  Captain  had 
turned  out  to  be  the  sort  of  man  he  had  hoped  to  find. 


CHAP,  xix  THE    COUNTESS    OF    MONTALTO  293 

'May  I  sa}'T  a  few  words  more?'   he  asked. 

'Certainly.  I  must  have  more  details.  Does  her 
husband  know  of  this?' 

The  Capuchin  told  him  the  story  as  he  had  heard  it 
from  Maria's  lips,  omitting  nothing.  He  had  an  ex 
tremely  good  memory.  Castiglione  noted  the  names  to 
which  the  drafts  were  to  be  addressed.  Padre  Bona- 
ventura  pointed  out  that  it  would  be  worse  than  useless 
to  pay  the  money  for  reproductions  which  could  be  mul 
tiplied  and  used  to  extort  more. 

'Is  that  all,  Father?'    asked  Castiglione. 

'I  have  a  word  to  say,  Captain,'  returned  the  monk, 
'first  as  one  man  to  another,  and  then  as  a  priest.  So 
far  as  the  one  is  concerned  we  shall  agree,  for  37-011  are 
evidently  a  man  of  honour;  as  for  the  rest,  I  presume 
your  views  about  priests  are  those  of  most  young  mili 
tary  men.' 

'They  are,'  Castiglione  admitted. 

'That  being  the  case,  we  shall  probably  not  agree. 
But  as  you,  when  under  orders,  would  do  your  duty  in 
3^our  profession,  so  I  must  do  mine.' 

'That  is  just.     Pray  speak  freely.' 

'As  one  man  to  another,  I  only  have  to  say  what  I 
see  3^ou  already  understand.  You  wrote  those  letters 
to  a  married  woman.  She  should  have  burnt  them,  it 
is  true ;  but  she  did  not.  If  she  is  compromised  by  the 
consequences,  the  fault  is  ultimately  yours.  If  there  is 
a  breath  upon  her  honour,  there  will  be  a  stain  on 
yours.' 

'You  put  things  plainly,  for  a  priest,'  said  Castiglione. 


294  A   LADY   OF    ROME  PART  n 

'In  that,  I  do  not  speak  as  a  monk,  but  as  a  man, 
Captain.7 

'And  very  much  like  a  soldier.  What  you  say  is  true, 
and  I  shall  act  with  the  conviction  that  my  own  honour 
is  in  danger.7 

'It  is  not  ever}7  man  that  would  do  that/  said  the 
monk  thoughtfully.  'Most  of  you,  in  your  class,  would 
say  that  the  fault  was  the  lady's  in  keeping  dangerous 
letters,  not  yours  in  writing  them.  I  come  to  the  second 
point.' 

'You  have  something  to  say  from  the  point  of  view 
of  religion,  I  understand/  said  Castiglione  gravely.  'I 
shall  listen  with  respect,  though  I  may  not  agree  with 
you.7 

'Thank  you.  In  an  affair  of  this  kind  an  officer  may 
always  be  placed  in  such  a  position  as  to  believe  it  his 
duty  to  fight  a  duel.7 

'With  an  absconding  steward  and  a  blackmailer?' 
Castiglione  smiled. 

'No.     With  the  lady's  husband  or  brother.' 

'Nothing  could  be  more  utterly  unlikely  in  this  case.' 

'Nevertheless,  as  a  priest,  and  because  I  have  been  the 
means  of  inciting  you  to  action,  I  ask  you  to  give  me  your 
word  that  you  will  not  be  led  into  a  duel.7 

'I  cannot  promise  that/  answered  Castiglione.  'That 
is  a  question  about  which  a  priest  and  a  soldier  cannot 
possibly  agree.  Forgive  me  for  saying  that  you  know 
no  more  of  my  profession  than  I  do  of  yours,  Father.' 

'Perhaps.     But  you  may  be  wrong.7 

The  old  man  turned  back  the  left  sleeve  of  his  loose 


CHAP,  xix  THE    COUNTESS    OF    MONTALTO  295 

and  threadbare  brown  frock.  Castiglione  started  slightly 
as  he  looked,  for  the  monk's  arm  was  gone. 

'I  left  it  at  Aspromonte,  in  the  sleeve  of  a  red  shirt/ 
he  said  quietly,  'and  I  was  in  orders  already.  I  made 
submission  afterwards.  Perhaps  a  priest  and  a  soldier 
may  yet  agree.' 

Castiglione  held  out  his  hand  across  the  table,  and 
Padre  Bonaventura  took  it  frankly. 

'I  beg  your  pardon/  said  the  Captain.  'I  can  promise 
an  old  soldier  what  I  would  never  promise  a  priest.  I 
do  not  foresee  any  chance  of  a  duel,  but  if  the  possibility 
of  one  arises,  I  will  do  my  very  best  to  avoid  it ;  I  will 
go  as  far  as  I  can  without  being  a  disgrace  to  the  regi 
ment.' 

'Thank  you/  answered  the  monk.  'I  know  that  is 
the  most  I  can  expect.  As  for  what  you  are  to  do,  I  can 
not  advise  you,  for  you  know  this  modern  world  better 
than  I.  The  lady  will  come  late  this  afternoon  to  hear 
the  result  of  the  step  I  have  taken.' 

'Tell  her  from  me ' 

'Stop,  Captain!'  The  monk  interrupted  him  sternly. 
'I  will  take  no  word  from  you  to  her.  Whatever  you 
choose  to  say,  you  say  to  me,  and  to  me  only.' 

'Yes  —  you  are  right.  I  repeat  what  I  first  said,  then. 
The  letters  shall  not  be  published  while  I  am  alive  to  hin 
der  it.  If  there  is  any  risk,  it  will  not  be  in  the  way  of  a 
duel,  so  the  one  promise  does  not  interfere  with  the  other. 
When  the  matter  is  settled,  shall  I  write  to  you  or  go 
and  see  you?' 

'In   no    case   write/    answered   Padre    Bonaventura. 


296  A   LADY    OF   ROME  PART  n 

'My  share  in  this  matter  ends  here,  and  I  need  neither 
hear  from  you  nor  see  you  again.  If  you  do  not  find  a 
way  to  make  the  publication  of  those  letters  impossible/ 
he  concluded,  speaking  slowly  as  he  rose  to  his  feet,  '  you 
are  not  the  man  I  take  you  for.' 

Castiglione  smiled  at  the  wholesale  directness  of  the 
final  speech,  but  only  nodded  in  reply,  and  accompanied 
his  visitor  to  the  outer  door  with  evident  respect.  Hear 
ing  steps,  the  orderly  dropped  the  boots  and  sprang  out 
of  his  little  den. 

'Good-bye,  Father,  and  thank  you/  said  Castiglione, 
shaking  his  hand  warmly. 

The  trooper  could  not  believe  his  eyes  and  ears,  and 
stood  open-mouthed,  grinning  with  astonishment.  As 
the  door  closed,  his  master  saw  his  face  and  felt  a  strong 
desire  to  box  his  ears.  But  the  Captain's  character  had 
changed  a  good  deal  of  late. 

He  laid  a  heavy  hand  on  the  young  soldier's  shoulder. 

'When  you  meet  him  again,  salute  him/  he  said 
sternly.  'That  old  monk  was  with  Garibaldi,  and  lost 
his  left  arm  at  Aspromonte.' 

'Yes,  sir!' 

Thereupon  the  orderly  went  back  to  the  boots  with 
a  very  grave  face. 

But  Castighone  returned  to  the  sitting-room  and  did 
not  call  his  man  for  half  an  hour,  during  which  time  he 
dressed  himself  without  the  latter 's  help,  as  he  often  did. 
It  was  noon  wrhen  he  went  out,  and  the  day  was  fine. 
Whatever  he  had  determined  to  do,  he  was  in  no  great 
hurry,  for  he  strolled  along  at  a  leisurely  pace,  enjoying 


CHAP,  xix  THE    COUNTESS    OF   MONTALTO  297 

the  sunshine  and  the  bright  air  after  the  rain.  But  there 
was  no  hesitation  as  to  the  direction  he  meant  to  take, 
and  he  neither  slackened  his  walk  nor  hastened  it  till  he 
reached  the  door  of  the  Marchesa  di  Parenzo's  pretty 
house,  when  it  was  a  quarter-past  twelve. 

He  asked  if  she  were  alone,  and  on  being  informed 
that  she  was,  he  told  the  man  to  inquire  whether  she 
could  receive  him  for  a  few  moments.  She  would  guess 
well  enough  that  only  an  important  matter  could  bring 
him  at  such  an  hour.  He  found  her  in  her  sitting-room, 
for  the  elder  boys  had  not  come  home  from  school  and 
the  smaller  children  were  already  at  their  dinner.  As 
usual,  she  wore  a  wonderfully  fitting  frock,  that  looked 
as  if  it  had  just  left  the  hands  of  a  consummate  artist, 
and  an  exquisite  little  pin,  of  a  perfectly  new  design, 
fastened  the  tie  which  was  in  the  fashion  for  women 
that  winter. 

'I  hope  you  will  stay  to  luncheon/  she  said,  as  soon  as 
they  had  shaken  hands.  'Sigismondo  is  coming,  and 
there  will  be  no  one  else  but  the  boys.' 

'You  are  very  kind,  but  I  can  only  stay  a  few  minutes/ 
Castiglione  answered,  wondering  how  many  of  the  women 
he  knew  would  take  the  trouble  to  look  their  best  merely 
for  their  husbands  and  their  children.  'I  came  to  ask  a 
question  which  may  seem  strange  to  you.  Can  you  tell 
me  anything  about  that  steward  of  Montalto's  who  has 
absconded  ? ' 

Giuliana's  quiet  eyes  examined  his  face  attentively. 
The  question  was  certainly  not  one  to  which  she  could 
object;  but  though  she  had  always  felt  inclined  to  like 


298  A  LADY    OF    ROME  PART  n 

him,  she  had  always  disapproved  of  him,  and  she  had 
distrusted  his  intentions  towards  Maria  since  he  had 
returned  to  Rome.  To  the  womanly  woman  he  ap 
pealed  as  a  particularly  manly  man;  to  the  virtuous 
matron,  far  above  the  faintest  breath  of  gossip,  he  repre 
sented  the  wicked  and  heartless  tempter,  going  about  to 
destroy. 

'Yes/  she  answered,  'I  heard  something  about  Or 
lando  Schmidt  yesterday.  Teresa  Crescenzi  has  a  story, 
as  usual.  She  says  that  he  played  in  some  place  where 
there  is  a  roulette  and  lost  a  great  deal  of  money.' 

1  Oh  !  That  is  interesting,  if  it  is  true.  I  wonder  how 
she  found  it  out.' 

'I  have  forgotten.  I  daresay  she  did  not  tell  us. 
Sigismondo  will  remember  the  whole  story,  if  you  will 
only  wait  till  he  comes  in.' 

'I'm  sorry,  but  I  cannot  stay.  Perhaps  I  had  better 
go  and  ask  Donna  Teresa  herself.  Are  you  sure  she  did 
not  tell  you  wrhere  the  gambling  den  was  ? ' 

'I  think  she  mentioned  Via  Belsiana/  answered  the 
Marchesa,  making  an  effort  of  memory.  'For  my  part, 
I  did  not  know  that  such  places  existed  in  Rome.' 

'At  all  events  you  have  put  me  on  the  right  track. 
Thank  you  very  much,  and  good-bye.' 

His  visit  had  not  lasted  five  minutes.  He  hailed  a  cab 
and  drove  to  Teresa  Crescenzi 's  door,  and  asked  to  see  her. 

She  also  was  very  smartly  dressed,  but  with  less  taste 
than  the  Marchesa.  She  was  alone  and  was  smoking  a 
cigarette  when  Castiglione  entered  the  little  drawing- 
room  of  her  apartment. 


CHAP.    XIX 


Till-;    COUNTESS     OF    MONT  ALTO  299 


'Do  stay  to  luncheon/  she  cried,  shaking  hands  effu 
sively.  'Do  iMaurienne  is  coming,  and  there  will  be  no 
one  else  !  You  know  him,  of  course.' 

'Yes,  I  know  de  Maurienne,'  answered  Castiglione, 
judging  that  the  invitation  was  only  meant  to  forestall 
any  surprise  on  his  part  if  the  Frenchman  appeared; 
'but  I  cannot  stay  to-day,  thank  you.  I  have  come 
to  you  for  some  information,  because  you  always  know 
the  truth  about  everything  that  happens,  and  when  you 
are  in  a  good  humour  you  tell  it.' 

'I  am  in  a  good  humour,'  she  laughed,  and  blew 
smoke  towards  him. 

'Where  is  that  gambling  den  at  which  Montalto's 
steward  lost  money  before  he  decamped  the  other  day  ? ' 

Again  Teresa  laughed  and  blew  another  little  cloud  at 
him. 

'  Why  do  you  ask  me  that  ? ' 

'  Perhaps  I  might  be  thinking  of  risking  a  little  money 
at  roulette  myself,'  suggested  Castiglione. 

'No,'  answered  Teresa  thoughtfully.  'You  are  not 
that  sort  of  man.  Besides,'  she  added  with  another 
laugh,  'if  you  were,  I  would  not  be  accessory  to  leading 
innocence  astray.  You  must  give  some  better  reason. 
Are  you  playing  detective  for  amusement?  Are  you 
trying  to  catch  Orlando  Schmidt  ? ' 

'Oh,  no!'  Castiglione  spoke  with  perfect  sincerity, 
and  laughed  in  his  turn. 

'What  will  you  do  for  me  if  I  tell  you?'  inquired 
Teresa  playfully. 

'Anything  in  reason,  and  honourable.' 


300  A  LADY    OF     HOME  PART,  n 

'  Oh  !  You  think  I  may  be  unreasonable  and  dishon 
ourable  ! ' 

'A  woman's  idea  of  honour  is  not  always  the  same  as  a 
man's,  you  know  ! ' 

'I  should  think  not!'    cried  Teresa  fervently. 

1  You  see  ! ' 

'You  are  a  good  swordsman,  are  you  not,  Balduccio?' 

'Fair.     Why  do  you  ask?' 

'Perhaps,  if  you  would  agree  to  fight  a  little  duel 
for  me  —  only  if  it  were  necessary  —  I  might  tell  you 
what  you  are  so  anxious  to  know  ! ' 

'At  my  age,  and  in  my  regiment,  we  do  not  fight  duels 
except  for  very  grave  reasons/  answered  Castiglionc. 

'Only  a  little  innocent  encounter,'  laughed  Teresa. 
'Just  to  scratch  a  man's  hand  or  arm  !  What  is  that  for 
a  brave  man  and  a  good  swordsman  like  you  ?  Besides, 
I  have  made  up  my  mind.  I  wras  only  joking  at  first, 
but  since  you  do  not  like  the  idea,  I  refuse  to  tell 
you  what  you  wish  to  know.  I  have  stated  my 
condition,  and  you  won't  accept  it.  I  believe  you're 
afraid!' 

'  Really ! '  exclaimed  Castiglione,  beginning  to  be  seri 
ously  annoyed. 

'  Oh,  no  !  It  is  of  no  use  to  argue  !  That  or  nothing ! 
Either  you  are  afraid,  or  you  are  not !  I  call  you  a 
coward ! ' 

She  turned  away  to  throw  the  end  of  her  cigarette  into 
the  fireplace.  Castiglione  moved  and  saw  Monsieur  de 
Maurienne,  who  had  entered  unannounced  in  time  to  hear 
the  last  words.  Teresa  had  seen  him,  too. 


CHAP,  xix  THE    COUNTESS    OF    MONTALTO  301 

'I  fear  I  am  intruding,  Madame/  he  said  stiffly,  and 
he  bowed  a  little  to  them  both. 

He  was  a  middle-sized  and  slightly  built  man  of 
thirty-five,  with  somewhat  intellectual  features ;  he  had 
soft  brown  hair  and  moustaches  and  he  wore  glasses. 
What  he  said  was  warranted  by  the  tone  of  mingled  irri 
tation  and  contempt,  in  which  Teresa  had  spoken,  even 
more  than  by  the  words,  since  some  women  think  them 
selves  privileged  to  insult  men.  But  Teresa  held  out  her 
hand  to  him. 

1  Intruding  ?  My  dear  friend,  what  an  idea !  You 
have  come  just  at  the  right  moment !  Balduccio  said 
something  to  me  which  I  shall  certainly  not  repeat,  and 
I  told  him  he  was  a  coward.  That  is  all.  It  is  of  no 
consequence  ! ' 

De  Maurienne  looked  at  Castiglione  for  some  explana 
tion,  and  evidently  expecting  one,  but  the  officer  was 
going  away  without  giving  one,  which  was  probably  his 
best  course. 

'That  is  what  it  means  to  be  an  unprotected  woman !' 
cried  Teresa,  in  a  tone  that  announced  approaching  tears. 

'What  do  you  mean,  Donna  Teresa?'  asked  Castigli 
one  sternly,  turning  back  as  he  spoke. 

'What  right  have  you  to  come  and  say  such  insulting 
things  to  me  ?  In  my  own  house,  with  no  one  to  defend 
me  !'  She  was  sobbing  now,  though  there  was  a  marked 
deficiency  of  tears.  'Go  !'  she  almost  screamed.  'Go,  I 
say  !  Never  speak  to  me  again  ! ' 

'I  can  only  believe  you  are  quite  mad,'  said  Castiglione 
coldlv. 


302 


A    LADY    OF    ROME 


Thereupon  he  bowed  and  went  out.  He  had  left 
the  apartment  and  was  slowly  descending  the  marble 
stairs  when  he  heard  quick  footsteps  behind  him.  He 
stopped,  looked  up,  and  saw  de  Maurienne  coming  down ; 
he  knew  what  that  meant,  and  waited. 

'This  cannot  end  here,  sir,'  said  the  Frenchman. 

'It  must,'  returned  Castiglione  with  great  emphasis. 
'I  see  that  you  wish  to  call  me  to  account,  but  I  assure 
you  that  nothing  will  induce  me  to  fight  about  such  a 
matter.' 

'Nothing,  sir?' 

'Nothing,  sir.' 

'Then  I  have  the  honour  to  suggest  that  the  lady 
had  some  ground  for  the  assertion  she  made,  sir.' 
The  Frenchman  spoke  quietly  and  coolly. 

Castiglione 's  blue  eyes  blazed  and  his  throat  grew 
very  red  above  the  line  of  his  military  collar.  By  a 
tremendous  effort  of  will  he  controlled  his  hands. 

'You  are  mistaken,  sir,'  he  said  in  a  rather  thick  tone. 

'In  any  case  I  am  at  your  disposal/  returned  de  Mau 
rienne  with  contempt.  'I  shall  be  at  home  after  five 
o'clock  and  shall  not  go  out  again.  Good  morning.' 

'Good  morning.' 

Castiglione  breathed  more  freely  in  the  street.  The 
whole  affair  was  utterly  incomprehensible  to  him,  for 
he  was  not  clever  enough  to  guess  that  Teresa  Crescenzi 
had  long  nourished  the  hope  of  making  Monsieur  de 
Maurienne  fight  a  duel  for  her  as  the  surest  means  of 
forcing  him  to  marry  her  afterwards,  and  that  Castigli- 
one's  unexpected  appearance  and  the  turn  the  interview 


CHAP,  xix  THE    COUNTESS    OF   MONTALTO  303 

had  taken  had  afforded  her  the  very  opportunity  she 
desired.  After  he  had  left  the  room  it  had  been  the  affair 
of  an  instant  to  tell  de  Maurienne  that  the  officer  had 
brutally  insulted  her  by  a  coarse  allusion  to  her  intimacy 
with  cle  Maurienne  himself. 

As  Castiglione  walked  down  the  street,  his  eyes  still 
on  fire  and  his  neck  still  very  red,  he  asked  himself  how 
far  he  was  bound  to  keep  his  word  to  Padre  Bonaventura. 
After  all,  no  one  would  ever  connect  a  quarrel  between 
him  and  de  Maurienne  in  Teresa  Crescenzi's  drawing- 
room  with  Maria  Montalto.  Yet,  in  plain  fact,  the 
quarrel  was  the  result  of  the  very  first  step  he  had  taken 
on  Maria's  behalf.  He  must  either  fight  or  leave  the 
regiment,  unless  de  Maurienne  would  retract  his  words. 

The  work  of  the  last  half-hour  had  not  been  very 
successful,  but  he  had  got  a  clue  from  Giuliana  Parenzo 
which  was  better  than  nothing  at  all,  for  he  had  already 
made  up  his  mind  as  to  the  course  Schmidt  must  have 
taken  when  he  found  himself  in  difficulties. 

He  soon  recovered  his  self-possession,  and  presently 
he  strolled  into  the  officers'  club.  It  was  almost  deserted 
at  that  hour,  for  there  was  then  no  regular  kitchen  con 
nected  with  it.  He  wrent  straight  to  the  writing-room, 
meaning  to  write  a  note  to  his  colonel,  for  he  knew  that 
in  such  a  case  it  would  be  best  to  lay  the  matter  before 
him  and  a  council  of  officers  at  once,  and,  in  spite  of  his 
great  anxiety  for  Maria,  it  was  absolutely  necessary  to 
give  precedence  to  the  affair  of  honour.  The  reputation 
of  the  regiment  was  at  stake. 

A  young  subaltern  of  another  regiment  was  sitting  at 


304  A    LADY    OF   ROME  PART  n 

one  of  the  tables  with  a  sheet  of  paper  before  him,  on 
which  he  had  written  a  few  words,  but  he  had  apparently 
not  been  able  to  get  any  further,  and  was  glowering  at 
the  opposite  wall,  the  picture  of  despair.  He  rose 
hastily  on  seeing  a  superior  officer  enter,  and  Castigli- 
one  nodded  to  him  familiarly  and  sat  down  not  far 
away.  But  he,  too,  had  some  difficulty  in  composing 
his  note,  and  as  he  looked  round  in  search  of  a  word, 
he  met  the  young  lieutenant's  eyes  gazing  at  him  with 
an  imploring  expression.  The  boy  was  the  son  of  a 
former  colonel  of  the  Piedmont  Lancers  who  had  been 
promoted,  but  had  lost  most  of  his  fortune  nearly  at  the 
same  time.  The  youth's  allowance  was  small,  therefore, 
and  it  was  known  that  he  played  too  high.  Castigli- 
one  had  a  sudden  inspiration. 

'What  is  the  matter?'  he  asked  kindly.  'You  seem 
to  be  in  trouble.  Can  I  help  you?' 

The  young  fellow  flushed  and  sat  up  straight. 

'  Oh,  no,  Captain !  Thank  you  very  much  indeed, 
but  I  should  not  dare  - 

'Have  you  lost  money  again?'  asked  Castiglione,  in 
the  same  friendly  tone. 

'Only  five  hundred.  But  you  know  how  it  is  —  we 
young  ones  in  the  regiment  never  have  any  cash,  you 
see  — 

'I  will  help  you  this  time,'  said  the  elder  man.  'But 
only  on  one  condition.' 

The  lieutenant  was  overwhelmed  with  gratitude. 

'Oh,  how  kind  you  are!'  he  cried.  'Anything  —  I 
can  repay  the  money  next  week ' 


CHAP,  xix  THE    COUNTESS     OF     MONTALTO  305 

'Nonsense.  You  will  return  it  when  you  have  it. 
The  condition  is  that  you  take  my  advice.' 

'And  give  up  playing  altogether!  Yes,  I  know  I 
should,  but  I  cannot  promise  that.'  His  face  fell  again. 

'No,  don't  promise  me  anything.  Promise  yourself, 
as  a  man,  that  you  will  never  play  for  more  than  you  have 
in  your  pocket.  Here  are  the  five  hundred  francs.' 

He  put  the  notes  into  an  envelope,  rose,  and  handed 
them  to  the  delighted  boy.  Not  knowing  what  might 
happen  in  the  course  of  the  day,  he  had  taken  all  of  his 
not  very  large  store  of  cash  with  him. 

M  shall  ask  you  a  little  service  in  my  turn,'  he  said, 
interrupting  his  young  friend's  voluble  thanks.  'I  do 
not  go  to  gambling-houses  myself,  but  for  a  strong  reason 
I  want  the  exact  address  of  one  which  is  said  to  exist  in 
Via  Belsiana.  Do  you  happen  to  remember  it?' 

'The  one  that  has  a  little  door  opening  on  the  street, 
with  a  foreign  doctor's  door-plate  over  the  bell  ?  Is  that 
the  one?' 

'Is  there  any  other  in  the  same  street?' 

'None  that  I  know  of.  Of  course,  one  goes  there  in 
civilian's  clothes,  and  it  is  open  after  three  in  the  after 
noon,  though  there  are  never  many  people  there  till 
later.  The  password  is  made  up  of  three  numbers, 
twenty-six,  eight,  seventeen.  Say  that  to  the  man  at 
the  door  and  he  will  let  you  in.' 

Castiglione  smiled. 

'You  seem  to  know  all  about  it,'  he  said.  'That  must 
be  the  one.  If  I  were  you  I  would  not  go  to  such  places. 
Do  you  remember  the  number?' 


306  A     LADY     OF     ROME  PART  n 

The  young  lieutenant  remembered  it  only  too  well, 
and  gave  it  glibly. 

'You  will  never  tell  anybody  that  I've  been  there, 
will  you,  Captain?'  he  added. 

'Certainly  not!  It  is  no  business  of  mine,  but  I  ad 
vise  you  to  give  it  up.' 

Castiglione  destroyed  the  note  he  had  begun  to  write 
and  went  away,  delighted  with  himself,  and  almost  for 
getting  de  Maurienne  and  Teresa  Crescenzi.  He  looked 
at  his  watch.  It  was  now  one  o'clock.  The  gambling 
den  did  not  open  till  three,  but  he  would  have  to  go  home 
to  change  his  clothes.  What  he  hoped  for  was  that  he 
might  find  the  proprietor  in  the  house  before  its  clients 
were  admitted.  The  interview  might  be  a  long  one, 
but  it  was  important  that  the  right  person  should  be 
altogether  at  Castiglione's  disposal  while  it  lasted,  and 
that  the  place  should  be  quiet.  Between  three  and  five 
there  would  be  plenty  of  time  to  find  his  colonel  and  to 
procure  two  brother  officers  to  see  him  through  the  affair. 

He  had  never  fought  a  duel,  but  was  not  much  dis 
turbed  by  the  prospect  of  one,  though  an  ordinary  en 
counter  with  sabres  is  a  much  more  serious  matter  in  Italy 
than  in  France  or  Germany.  He  had  never  had  a  quar 
rel,  because  he  was  not  the  sort  of  man  whom  most  peo 
ple  cared  to  meddle  with,  and  also  because  the  life  he  had 
led  for  so  many  }^ears  had  never  brought  him  into  trouble. 
A  man  who  does  not  excite  the  jealousy  of  other  men, 
who  pays  his  debts,  helps  his  friends  when  he  can  and 
never  asks  for  help,  may  easily  spend  his  life  in  the  Italian 
Army  without  ever  being  called  out. 


CHAPTER  XX 

AN  hour  later  Castiglione  was  admitted  to  the  little  house 
in  Via  Belsiana  by  a  small  man  with  eyes  like  a  ferret 
and  reddish  hair,  who  shut  the  street  door  at  once  but  did 
not  seem  inclined  to  let  the  visitor  pass  beyond  the  nar 
row  hall  without  some  further  formality. 

'The  club  is  not  open  yet/  he  said,  civilly  enough. 
'You  probably  do  not  know  the  hours,  as  this  is  the  first 
time  you  have  been  here,  though  you  have  the  pass 
words.' 

Castiglione  understood  that  it  was  the  doorkeeper's 
business  to  know  the  faces  of  those  who  frequented  the 
place.  He  gave  the  man  twenty  francs  by  way  of  mak 
ing  acquaintance. 

'Thank  you,'  said  the  fellow,  who  had  not  failed  to 
notice  that  the  pocket-book  from  which  the  notes  were 
produced  was  well  filled.  'I  presume  you  wish  to  join 
the  club,  sir?' 

He  knew  his  business  and  was  a  judge  of  men  at  first 
sight ;  a  glance  had  assured  him  that  the  newcomer  was 
an  officer  in  civilian's  clothes,  and  was  therefore  per 
fectly  eligible  to  the  'club.' 

Castiglione  only  hesitated  for  a  moment. 

'Yes,'  he  answered.  'I  should  like  to  see  the  pro 
prietor.' 

307 


308  A   LADY    OF   ROME  PART  n 

'The  treasurer,  sir/  said  the  man,  correcting  him  po 
litely,  but  with  some  emphasis,  'is  upstairs.  If  you  will 
kindly  step  into  the  reading-room  I  will  ask  whether  he 
can  see  you.  I  bclieArc  he  has  just  finished  his  break 
fast,' 

Castiglione  followed  him  through  a  long  passage  that 
turned  to  the  left,  and  the  man  unlocked  the  door  of  a 
room  that  smelt  of  stale  cigarette  smoke.  It  was  dark, 
but  in  a  moment  the  doorkeeper  turned  up  a  number  of 
electric  lights.  The  walls  were  full  of  mirrors,  and  the 
furniture  was  of  the  description  which  must  be  supposed 
to  suit  the  taste  of  the  wicked,  as  it  is  only  found  in  their 
favourite  resorts.  There  was  a  vast  amount  of  gilding, 
red  plush  and  sky-blue  satin,  and  the  table  was  covered 
with  dark  green  cotton  velvet,  fastened  to  the  edges  with 
gilt  nails,  below  which  hung  a  green  and  pink  fringe. 

As  the  place  was  a  reading-room  it  wras  natural  that 
there  should  be  something  in  it  to  read.  The  literature 
was  on  the  table,  and  consisted  of  a  new  railway  guide, 
a  small  framed  and  glazed  price-list  of  'refreshments,' 
in  which  'Cognac'  was  offered  for  the  modest  sum  of 
twenty-five  francs  the  bottle,  and  an  old  number  of  a 
disreputable  illustrated  paper. 

Castiglione  was  not  familiar  with  low  places  of  any 
sort,  and  he  looked  about  him  with  surprised  disgust. 
He  was  not  left  to  himself  very  long;  the  door  opened 
and  a  broad-shouldered  man  with  a  white  face  entered 
and  shut  it  behind  him.  He  wrore  a  dark  morning  coat, 
very  well  cut,  and  the  fashionable  collar  and  tie,  but  he 
smelt  of  patchouli  and  his  light  hair  curled  on  his  fore- 


CHAP,  xx  THE    COUNTESS    OF    MONT  ALTO  309 

head.  Castiglione  felt  an  instant  desire  to  throw  him 
out,  and  would  certainly  have  done  so  at  sight  if  the 
man  had  appeared  in  his  own  rooms. 

:  Good  morning.  You  wish  to  become  a  member  of  the 
club  ?  Yes  ?  A  little  formality  is  necessary.  The  com 
mittee,  which  I  usually  represent,  decides  upon  the 
eligibility  of  candidates.  There  is  no  election,  no  sub 
scription,  and  no  entrance  fee,  so  that  it  is  a  mere 
form.' 

Castiglione  watched  the  man  attentively  during  this 
speech,  which  was  delivered  in  a  glib  and  oily  manner, 
and  he  wondered  to  what  nation  the  keeper  of  the  gam 
bling-hell  belonged,  for  he  had  never  seen  a  specimen 
of  the  breed  before,  though  it  flourishes  from  Port  Said 
and  Constantinople  to  San  Francisco  by  way  of  Paris, 
London,  and  New  York.  Like  the  cholera,  it  appears  to 
have  its  origin  in  the  East.  The  specimens  speak  every 
language  under  the  sun  with  equal  fluency  and  correct 
ness,  but  always  with  a  slightly  foreign  accent,  and  they 
are  neither  Christians,  Jews,  nor  Turks,  but  infidels  of 
some  other  kind.  He  who  has  not  had  business  with  a 
Levantine  blackleg  or  a  Hindu  money-lender  does  not 
guess  what  guile  dwells  in  the  human  heart. 

Castiglione  looked  at  the  *  treasurer '  and  sat  down  on 
a  gilt  chair.  The  man  followed  his  example,  and  they 
faced  each  other  with  the  table  between  them. 

'Yes,'  said  the  Captain,  as  if  agreeing  to  the  conditions 
of  membership,  which  indeed  seemed  extremely  easy  to 
fulfil,  'I  quite  understand.  But  before  joining  your 
club  I  should  like  to  ask  for  a  little  information.  I  am 


310  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  n 

told  that  the  members  sometimes  play  games  of  chance. 
Ami  right?' 

'Occasionally/  replied  the  treasurer,  'they  do.' 

'Just  so.  I  am  an  officer,  as  you  may  have  guessed. 
Now,  in  the  other  clubs  to  which  I  belong,  you  must  be 
aware  that  we  generally  play  with  counters,  and  that 
we  settle  once  a  week.  Is  that  the  practice  in  your  club, 
too?' 

The  treasurer  smiled.  Castiglione  thought  his  face 
was  like  a  mask  of  Mephistopheles  modelled  in  whitish 
ice-cream. 

'No.     We  play  only  for  cash  here.' 

'A  very  good  way,  too,'  said  Castiglione  in  a  tone  of 
approval.  'But  I  will  suppose  a  case.  If,  for  instance, 
a  member  of  the  club  loses  all  the  cash  he  has  brought 
with  him,  and  if  it  is  rather  late  in  the  evening,  and  he 
wishes  to  go  on  playing  in  the  hope  of  winning  back 
something,  is  there  no  way  by  which  he  can  borrow  a 
little  money  without  going  home  to  get  it  ? ' 

'Oh,  yes, 'answered  the  treasurer,  falling  into  the  snare. 
'When  the  committee  is  quite  sure  that  a  member  is 
able  to  pay  we  are  always  glad  to  accommodate  him  with 
whatever  he  needs.' 

'I  see!  That  is  just  as  convenient  as  our  system  of 
counters.  The  member  merely  signs  a  receipt  for  the 
money,  I  suppose,  and  settles  at  the  end  of  the  week.' 

'Not  exactly.  The  committee  prefers  a  stamped 
draft  at  eight  days,  and  charges  a  small  interest.  You 
see  an  accident  might  happen  to  the  member  - 

'Quite  so,'  interrupted  Castiglione,   'and    the   draft 


THE    COUNTESS    OF    MONTALTO  311 

protects  the  club,  of  course.  There  is  only  one  more  case 
about  which  I  should  like  to  ask.  Suppose,  for  instance, 
that  the  member  in  question  did  not  live  in  Rome,  and 
that  you  did  not  know  much  about  him.  He  might  be 
a  rich  foreigner,  who  had  joined  for  a  few  days,  and 
though  he  might  have  come  to  the  end  of  his  cash,  he 
might  have  something  very  valuable  about  him,  such  as 
a  handsome  diamond  or  ruby.  Does  the  committee 
make  an  exception  for  him  and  accept  anything  of  that 
sort  as  security  ? ' 

'Occasionally/  replied  the  treasurer,  'it  does.' 

'Yes,'  said  Castiglione  in  a  thoughtful  tone,  leaning 
back  in  his  chair  with  his  hands  thrust  into  the  deep 
pockets  of  his  overcoat.  'The  committee  lends  money 
on  valuables.  That  is  very  convenient.' 

He  glanced  at  the  treasurer,  who  wras  smoking  a  huge 
Egyptian  cigarette,  which  he  held  with  his  left  hand, 
while  the  fingers  of  his  right  played  a  noiseless  little 
tattoo  on  the  green  cotton  velvet  of  the  table;  they 
were  white  and  unhealthy-looking,  and  loaded  with 
rings. 

'The  object  of  the  committee,'  said  the  man,  'is  to 
meet  the  wishes  of  the  members  as  far  as  possible,  and 
to  study  their  convenience.' 

'As  in  the  case  of  Orlando  Schmidt,'  observed  Cas 
tiglione,  keeping  his  eye  on  the  treasurer's  right  hand. 

The  fingers  at  once  stopped  playing  the  noiseless  tat 
too  and  lay  quite  still,  though  the  treasurer  gave  no  other 
sign  of  intelligence;  but  that  alone  might  mean  a  good 
deal. 


312  A    LADY    OF   ROME  PART  n 

*  Who  is  Orlando  Schmidt  ? '  he  asked,  apparently  un 
moved. 

'Surely  you  remember  him/  answered  Castiglione. 
'You  cannot  have  already  forgotten  Orlando  Schmidt, 
and  Carlo  Pozzi  of  Palermo,  and  Paolo  Pizzuti  of  Mes 
sina  ! ' 

The  treasurer's  face  did  not  change,  but  his  right  hand 
moved  and  disappeared  below  the  edge  of  the  green 
velvet  to  get  at  his  pistol.  Castiglione  was  ready,  and 
was  too  quick  for  him. 

'Keep  your  hands  on  the  table  and  don't  call,  or  I'll 
fire,'  he  said  sternly. 

The  treasurer  looked  down  the  barrel  of  a  full-sized 
army  revolver,  and  beyond  it  he  saw  Castiglione's  eyes 
and  resolute  jaw.  There  is  one  point  in  which  the  breed 
to  which  he  belonged  does  not  resemble  that  of  the 
European  adventurer;  it  is  a  breed  of  cowards  always 
ready  with  firearms  but  never  able  to  face  them.  More 
over,  Castiglione  had  the  advantage. 

'Don't  shoot!'   cried  the  man  in  manifest  terror. 

'Sign  this  or  I  shall/  answered  Castiglione,  not  lower 
ing  his  revolver.  With  the  other  hand  he  pushed  across 
the  table  a  sheet  of  paper  on  which  he  had  previously 
written  something;  he  then  took  a  fountain  pen  from 
an  inner  pocket  and  laid  it  before  the  treasurer.  'Sign/ 
he  said. 

The  treasurer  offered  no  resistance,  and  his  fingers 
shook  visibly  as  he  took  up  the  pen  and  bent  over  the 
paper. 

'Under  protest/  he  said  feebly. 


CHAP,  xx  THE    COUNTESS    OF   MONTALTO  313 

'If  you  write  anything  but  your  own  name  I  will  kill 
you.  I'm  watching  the  point  of  the  pen.  Never  mind 
reading  what  is  there.  That  is  my  affair.  Your  busi 
ness  is  not  to  be  shot.  Don't  sign  an  assumed  name 
either,  or  I'll  pull  the  trigger.' 

In  sheer  terror  of  his  life  the  man  wrote  his  own  name, 
or  at  all  events  the  one  he  went  by  in  his  business* 
'Rociolfo  Blosse.' 

'You  have  lost  the  money  you  lent  to  Orlando 
Schmidt/  said  Castiglione,  withdrawing  the  paper, 
and  quietly  waving  it  to  and  fro  to  dry  the  signature, 
'  but  you  have  the  advantage  of  being  a  live  man.' 

The  revolver  did  not  change  its  position. 

'You  seem  to  think  there  are  no  laws  in  your  country/ 
said  the  treasurer,  who  was  afraid  to  move. 

'On  the  contrary  we  have  excellent  ones,  many  of 
which  are  made  for  people  like  you.  Now  I  am  going. 
I  shall  walk  slowly  backwards  to  the  door,  and  if  you 
move  before  you  hear  it  shut  after  me  you  will  never 
move  again.  Stay  where  you  are,  facing  the  table, 
and  keep  both  hands  on  it.' 

All  doors  in  the  resorts  of  the  wicked  have  good  locks, 
and  Castiglione  turned  the  key  after  him  and  went  back 
to  the  street  entrance,  where  the  ferret-eyed  porter  was 
waiting. 

'Always  after  three  o'clock,  is  it  not?'  Castiglione 
asked  carelessly. 

The  man  nodded  as  he  let  him  out. 

'Yes,  sir/  he  answered  respectfully,  thinking  of  the 
twenty  francs  he  had  just  received  from  the  new  member. 


314  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  n 

Castiglione  walked  briskly  to  the  Piazza,  di  Spagna, 
and  then  slackened  his  pace  and  drew  a  long  breath  be 
fore  he  lit  a  cigar,  and  repeated  to  himself  the  words  that 
were  written  on  the  paper  in  his  pocket.  He  walked 
slowly  home,  and  when  he  was  in  his  own  room  he  spread 
the  sheet  out  and  wrote  below  Rodolfo  Blosse's  signature : 
'Witness,  BALDASSARE  DEL  CASTIGLIONE,  Piedmont 
Lancers.'  Then  he  folded  the  sheet  again,  placed  it  in 
an  envelope,  which  he  sealed  and  addressed  to  the 
1  Reverend  Father  Bonaventura  of  the  Capuchins.7 

He  got  into  his  uniform  again,  and  having  placed  the 
envelope  in  the  inner  pocket  of  his  tunic,  he  went  to  see 
his  colonel,  to  whom  he  had  telephoned  before  going  to 
Via  Belsiana,  asking  to  be  received  on  urgent  business  at 
three  in  the  afternoon.  The  great  clock  in  the  hall  rang 
the  Westminster  chimes  as  he  entered ;  it  wras  a  remem 
brance  of  the  time  when  Casalmaggiore  had  been  military 
attache  at  the  Italian  Embassy  in  London. 

He  gave  Castiglione  an  enormous  Havana  as  they  sat 
down  by  the  fire,  and  he  lit  one  himself  and  offered  to 
have  Turkish  coffee  made.  Castiglione  had  forgotten  to 
eat  anything  since  he  had  come  in  from  riding  in  the 
morning,  and  he  accepted  gladly. 

'Is  it  about  that  mare ?'  asked  the  Duca  when  he  had 
rung  and  given  the  order. 

'No,  not  this  time.'  Castiglione  laughed.  'I  have 
come  for  advice  in  an  affair  of  honour.' 

'Oh!'  The  Colonel  seemed  annoyed.  'What  a  nui 
sance  ! '  he  observed  with  some  emphasis.  '  Wait 
till  the  man  has  brought  the  coffee.  Meanwhile,  about 


CHAP,  xx  THE    COUNTESS    OF    MONTALTO  315 

that  other  matter  —  you  have  heard  of  my  last 
offer?' 

The  Count  of  Montalto's  Andalusian  mare  happened  to 
be  the  only  thing,  animate  or  inanimate,  which  the  Duca 
di  Casalmaggiore  wanted  and  could  not  get;  for  he  did 
not  even  hanker  after  promotion.  There  was  not  an 
officer  in  his  regiment,  old  or  young,  whom  he  had  not 
employed  in  some  piece  of  diplomacy  in  the  hope  of  get 
ting  possession  of  the  coveted  animal,  and  he  began  talk 
ing  about  her  at  once,  showing  little  inclination  to  listen 
to  Castiglione's  story,  even  when  the  servant  had  come 
and  gone  and  they  were  drinking  their  coffee.  He  quite 
ignored  the  fact  that  Castiglione  and  Montalto  were  not 
on  speaking  terms,  or  he  pretended  to  do  so,  for  which  the 
}Tounger  man  was,  on  the  whole,  grateful  to  him. 

'I  am  very  sorry  to  change  the  subject/  said  the  Cap 
tain,  at  last,  'but  this  affair  of  mine  is  rather  urgent.' 

1 1  had  quite  forgotten  it !  Pray  excuse  me  and  tell 
me  what  the  matter  is.' 

The  Colonel  settled  himself  with  a  bored  expression 
and  listened.  He  greatly  disliked  duelling  in  his  regi 
ment,  and  invariably  hindered  an  encounter  if  he  could. 
In  his  young  days  a  great  misfortune  had  happened  to 
him;  in  a  senseless  quarrel  he  had  severely  wounded  a 
brother  officer,  who  had  become  consumptive  in  con 
sequence  and  had  died  two  years  later. 

He  listened  patiently  to  Castiglione's  story,  and  then 
delivered  himself  of  a  general  prediction. 

'That  infernal  cousin  of  mine  will  be  the  death  of  one 
of  us  yet ! '  He  sent  an  inch  of  heavy  ash  from  his  cigar 


316  A   LADY    OF   ROME  PART  n 

into  the  fire  with  a  vicious  flick.  'Why  the  devil  did 
you  go  to  see  her  ? '  he  asked,  very  unreasonably. 

Castiglione  smiled  but  said  nothing.  He  knew  well 
enough  that  Teresa  Crescenzi  had  tried  to  marry  Casal- 
maggiore,  and  that  the  latter  had  been  forced  to  make 
a  regular  defence. 

'There's  only  one  way  to  deal  with  such  women/ 
he  observed.  'Marry  them  and  separate  within  six 
months.  Then  you  need  never  see  them  again !  What 
are  you  going  to  do  ?' 

1  That  is  precisely  what  I  have  come  to  ask  you,  as  my 
chief.  The  honour  of  the  regiment  is  the  only  question 
that  matters  to  me.  I  shall  do  whatever  you  advise. 
De  Maurienne  expects  to  hear  from  me  after  five  o'clock. 
As  for  the  cause  of  the  quarrel,  Donna  Teresa  must  be 
quite  mad.' 

'Mad?'  Casalmaggiore  laughed.  'You  don't  know 
her !  Don't  you  see  that  it  is  all  a  trick  to  make  de 
Maurienne  compromise  her  by  fighting  a  duel  for  her, 
and  that  he  will  be  forced  to  marry  her  afterwards, 
for  decency's  sake?' 

Castiglione  looked  at  his  colonel  with  sincere  admira 
tion,  for  such  tortuous  reasoning  could  never  have  taken 
shape  in  his  own  rather  simple  brain,  though  he  now  saw 
that  no  other  explanation  of  Teresa's  conduct  was  pos 
sible.  The  Duca  smiled  and  pushed  his  delicate  grey 
moustaches  from  his  lips  with  the  dry  tip  of  his  cigar, 
which  he  never  by  any  chance  placed  between  them. 
He  seemed  able  to  draw  in  the  smoke  by  some  mys 
terious  means  without  even  touching  the  tobacco,  for 


CHAP,  xx  THE    COUNTESS    OF   MONTALTO  317 

in  smoking,  as  in  everything  else,  he  was  a  thorough 
epicure. 

'I  hope/  he  said,  his  words  following  the  fresh  cloud  he 
blew,  'that  de  Maurienne  will  at  least  have  the  sense  to 
act  as  I  suggested  just  now.  In  France  he  can  do  better. 
He  can  be  divorced  without  difficulty.  Fancy  the  satis 
faction  of  divorcing  Teresa !  Can  you  see  her  expres 
sion?  And  she  would  be  "a  defenceless  woman"  again 
in  no  time.  Of  all  the  offensive  forms  of  defenceless- 
ness  ! ' 

He  laughed  softly  to  himself. 

'Meanwhile/  said  Castiglione,  trying  to  bring  him  back 
to  the  subject  in  hand,  'I  am  afraid  something  very  dis 
agreeable  may  happen.' 

''What  is  that?'  asked  the  Colonel,  following  his  own 
amusing  thoughts  and  still  smiling. 

'You  see,  I  have  never  fought  a  duel,  and  as  I  am  not 
inclined  to  let  de  Maurienne  run  me  through,  I  might  kill 
him.  There  would  be  very  serious  trouble  if  an  Italian 
officer  killed  a  French  diplomatist,  I  suppose,  not  to  men 
tion  the  fact  that  I  should  have  to  spend  a  couple  of 
years  in  a  fortress.' 

'You  are  afraid  you  might  upset  the  European  concert, 
are  you?'  The  Colonel  seemed  much  amused  at  the 
idea.  'But  it  is  all  nonsense,  Castiglione.  There  is  not 
going  to  be  any  fight.' 

'But  the  man  called  me  a  coward  to  my  face,  Colonel ! 
What  am  I  to  do?' 

'  Go  home  and  go  to  bed.  It's  the  only  safe  place  when 
Teresa  is  on  the  war-path.  If  you  want  an  excuse,  I'll 


318  A    LADY    OF    ROME  TART  n 

put  you  under  arrest  in  your  rooms,  but  that  seems  use 
less.  Go  home  and  go  to  bed,  I  tell  you !' 

'  It's  rather  early/  objected  Castiglione,  smiling.  '  And 
meanwhile  Monsieur  de  Maurienne  will  be  sitting  up 
waiting  for  my  friends.' 

'Dear  Captain/  said  Casalmaggiore,  'I  have  not  the 
least  idea  what  Monsieur  de  Maurienne  will  do.  If  I 
say  that  I  will  be  responsible  for  your  honour  as  for 
my  own,  and  for  that  of  the  Piedmont  Lancers,  and  if 
I  tell  you  that  there  will  be  no  duel,  Monsieur  de  Mau 
rienne  may  sit  up  all  night,  for  weeks  and  weeks,  so  far 
as  you  are  concerned.' 

'That  is  a  very  different  matter/  answered  Castigli- 
one  gravely.  'I  have  nothing  more  to  say.  If  my 
honour  can  be  safer  anywhere  than  in  my  own  keeping, 
it  will  be  so  in  your  hands.  Do  you  really  wish  me  to 
stay  at  home  this  evening  ? ' 

'  Yes,  unless  you  want  a  couple  of  days'  leave,  though 
we  have  a  general  order  from  headquarters  not  to  allow 
officers  or  men  leave  to  go  further  than  three  hours  by 
railway.  Trouble  is  expected  owing  to  these  strikes, 
and  we  shall  probably  be  doing  patrol  duty  next  week ! 
You  may  have  two  days  if  you  like.' 

'Thank  you,  no.     I'll  go  home.' 

Castiglione  made  a  movement  to  get  up. 

'No,  no!'  objected  Casalmaggiore.  'I  have  not  told 
you  everything  about  that  mare  yet.  Stay  a  little  longer.' 

'Certainly;  with  pleasure.  But  first,  if  it's  not  in 
discreet,  may  I  ask  how  in  the  world  you  are  going  to 
settle  my  affair?' 


CHAP,  xx  THE    COUNTESS    OF   MONTALTO  319 

'You  may  ask,  Castiglione,'  replied  the  Colonel  with 
great  gravity,  '  but  it  is  beyond  my  power  to  answer  you ; 
for  I  give  you  my  word  of  honour  that  I  have  not  the 
slightest  idea.  Montalto  knows  perfectly  well/  he  con 
tinued  without  a  break  and  in  precisely  the  same  tone 
of  voice,  'that  I  will  pay  twenty  thousand  francs  for  the 
mare  whenever  he  likes,  and  that's  a  large  price  in  Italy.' 

After  that  Castiglione  made  no  further  attempt  to 
talk  about  de  Maurienne,  and  his  colonel  kept  him  till 
after  four  o'clock. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

MARIA  was  silent  and  preoccupied  throughout  the  day, 
and  did  not  attempt  to  rouse  Montalto  from  his  apathy. 
He  made  no  reference  to  the  letters,  though  he  gave  some 
thought  to  the  subject  in  the  privacy  of  his  study,  and 
practically  decided  to  consult  the  police  on  the  morrow, 
since  no  other  course  suggested  itself  to  his  not  very 
active  imagination. 

One  of  Giuliana  Parenzo's  horses  was  lame,  and  an 
other  had  a  bad  cold,  and  she  telephoned  to  ask  if  Maria 
would  take  her  for  a  drive  and  make  a  few  visits  with 
her.  Having  no  ready  excuse,  Maria  agreed  to  the  pro 
posal  on  condition  that  Giuliana  should  not  object  to 
waiting  for  her  a  few  minutes  outside  the  Church  of 
the  Capuchins.  She  had  ascertained  from  her  maid, 
who  was  a  Roman,  that  twenty- three-and-a-half  o'clock 
meant  sunset  at  all  times  of  the  year,  which  seemed  to 
her  a  clumsy  way  of  reckoning,  the  more  so  as  she  had  to 
make  further  inquiries  in  order  to  ascertain  the  hour  at 
which  the  sun  actually  went  down.  It  turned  out  to 
be  about  a  quarter  before  five,  but  as  she  was  not  quite 
sure,  she  thought  it  best  to  go  at  half-past  four.  If 
Padre  Bonaventura  had  not  come  in  she  could  wait  for 
him.  Giuliana  probably  had  some  visit  to  make  at 
one  of  the  modern  hotels  in  the  vicinity,  for  she  and  her 
husband  necessarily  knew  many  foreigners. 

320 


CHAP,  xxi  THE  COUNTESS    OF    MONTALTO  321 

Accordingly,  at  half-past  four,  when  the  brown  front 
of  the  old  church  was  just  beginning  to  glow  in  the  even 
ing  light,  the  Countess's  carriage  stopped  before  the 
steps.  Giuliana  had  said  that  she  preferred  to  wait, 
as  she  had  nothing  to  do  in  the  neighbourhood,  but,  to 
Maria's  surprise,  she  now  also  got  out. 

'It  is  a  long  time  since  I  was  here,'  she  explained,  'so 
I  have  changed  my  mind.  I  shall  not  be  in  your  way  if 
I  stay  near  the  door.' 

'  In  the  way  ?  How  absurd  ! '  Maria  laughed  a  little 
as  she  went  up  the  steps. 

They  parted  just  inside  the  door ;  Giuliana  knelt  down 
by  a  straw  chair  on  the  right,  while  Maria  went  up  the 
church  diagonally  towards  the  left,  in  the  direction  of  the 
confessional  which  Padre  Bonaventura  usually  occupied. 

She  found  him  in  the  last  chapel  on  the  left,  by  the 
door  of  the  sacristy,  in  the  act  of  shaking  hands  with 
Castiglione,  who  was  evidently  taking  leave  of  him. 
Coming  upon  them  so  suddenly  when  the  evening  glow 
through  the  upper  windows  made  the  church  very  light, 
it  was  out  of  the  question  to  draw  back  into  the  shadow. 
The  monk  saw  her  first,  but  Castiglione  turned  his  head 
a  second  later,  and  the  three  were  standing  together. 

Maria  drew  herself  up  very  straight  in  the  effort  to 
check  a  cry  of  surprise,  and  Castiglione  made  rather  a 
stiff  military  bow ;  but  she  saw  his  eyes  in  the  rosy  light, 
and  he  saw  hers.  A  moment  later  he  was  gone,  and  her 
ears  followed  the  musical  little  jingle  of  his  spurs  as 
he  wyent  down  the  nave  towards  the  door,  near  which 
Giuliana  Parenzo  was  kneeling. 


322  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  n 

But  while  she  listened  she  was  looking  into  the  monk's 
face,  and  her  owrn  was  pale  and  had  a  frightened  ex 
pression. 

'It  could  not  be  helped/  he  said  in  a  low  voice.  'I 
did  not  know  he  was  coming,  and  you  are  here  early.  If 
there  is  any  fault  it  is  mine.' 

Maria  listened  in  silence.  He  held  out  the  sealed  en 
velope  Castiglione  had  brought  him,  and  she  saw  the 
well-known  writing. 

'This  is  addressed  to  me/  continued  Padre  Bona- 
ventura,  'but  I  give  it  to  you  unopened.  It  contains  a 
document  which  will  relieve  you  of  all  anxiety  about  your 
letters/ 

'Already!' 

'Yes.     He  has  lost  no  time.     He  is  a  man  of  action.' 

The  monk  could  not  withhold  a  word  of  admiration, 
and  Maria  felt  the  warmth  in  her  cheeks. 

'  Indeed  he  is  ! '  she  answered  in  a  low  voice.  '  Thank 
him  for  me  ! ' 

'I  have  thanked  him.  That  is  enough,  and  we  may 
never  meet  again.' 

'I  may  at  least  be  grateful  to  you/  Maria  said. 

'My  share  has  been  small.  I  must  leave  you  now,  for 
there  is  some  one  waiting  to  confess.' 

He  left  the  chapel,  but  Maria  remained  a  few  moments 
longer.  When  she  was  sure  that  no  one  could  see  her 
she  slipped  the  sealed  envelope  inside  her  frock,  for  she 
did  not  like  to  trust  it  to  the  little  bag  in  which  she  carried 
her  cards,  her  handkerchief,  and  her  money.  She  had 
almost  forgotten  Giuliana  till  she  met  her  standing  by  the 


CHAP,  xxi  THE    COUNTESS    OF   MONTALTO  323 

door,  and  saw  the  look  of  surprise  and  reproach  in  her 
eyes. 

They  went  clown  the  steps  side  by  side  in  silence,  and 
neither  spoke  till  the  carriage  wras  moving  again. 

'I  really  think  you  might  choose  some  other  place  in 
which  to  meet/  said  Giuliana  at  last. 

Maria  had  expected  something  of  the  sort  from  her 
impeccable  friend. 

'We  met  by  accident,  and  we  did  not  speak/  she  an 
swered  quietly,  for  she  knew  that  appearances  were 
against  her. 

'I  did  not  know  that  he  ever  entered  a  church/  re 
turned  Giuliana,  who  was  well  acquainted  with  Castigli- 
one's  opinions  in  matters  of  religion. 

'Very  rarely  —  at  least,  when  I  knew  him.' 

Maria  was  not  inclined  to  say  more,  and  Giuliana 
thought  the  explanation  anything  but  sufficient.  Maria 
had  always  been  very  truthful,  but  when  unassailable 
virtue  is  suspicious  it  always  goes  to  extremes,  and  tells 
us  that  the  devil  is  everywhere,  whereas,  since  he  is 
usually  described  as  an  individual,  and  by  no  means  as 
divine,  it  is  hard  to  see  how  he  can  be  in  two  places  at 
once.  Maria  was  aware  of  her  friend's  state  of  mind, 
but  was  too  much  occupied  with  her  own  thoughts  to 
pay  any  more  attention  to  it  after  having  told  the  truth. 
The  sealed  envelope  that  came  from  Castiglione's  hand 
lay  inside  her  frock,  upon  her  neck,  somewhat  to  the  left, 
and  it  was  burning  her  and  sending  furious  little  thrills 
through  her;  yet  it  would  have  to  lie  there  at  least  an 
other  hour  while  she  made  visits  with  Giuliana. 


324  A   LADY    OF   ROME  PART  n 

She  left  the  latter  at  her  home  at  last,  and  they  had 
never  parted  so  coldly  in  the  course  of  their  long  friend 
ship.  When  Maria  was  alone  in  her  carriage,  in  the 
dark,  she  opened  her  frock  again  and  took  out  the  en 
velope  and  put  it  into  her  bag,  for  she  could  not  bear  to 
let  it  touch  her  any  longer,  and  the  recollection  of  Cas- 
tiglione's  eyes  had  not  faded  yet. 

To  drive  the  vision  of  him  away  she  thought  of  Giu- 
liana,  and  reflected  upon  the  extreme  foolishness  of  her 
friend's  suspicions.  If  the  two  had  meant  to  meet  in  the 
chapel,  though  only  for  an  instant,  it  would  have  been 
easy  to  warn  Castiglione  that  Giuliana  was  in  the  church, 
and  that  he  must  wait  for  her  to  go  away  before  showing 
himself. 

The  carriage  descended  the  Via  Nazionale  on  the  way 
home,  and  had  gone  a  hundred  yards  further  when  it 
stopped  short,  to  Maria's  surprise,  and  at  the  same  mo 
ment  she  saw  a  villainous  face  almost  flattened  against  the 
glass.  Telemaco  turned  the  horses  suddenly  to  the 
right  and  drove  quickly  along  the  Piazza  dei  Santi  Apos- 
toli,  which  was  almost  deserted.  The  Countess  dropped 
the  front  window  of  the  brougham  and  asked  what  was 
the  matter. 

1  There  is  a  riot  in  Piazza  di  Venezia,  Excellency. 
They  are  throwing  stones.' 

Maria  raised  the  glass  again.  It  was  only  another 
strike,  she  thought,  or  an  anarchist's  funeral,  and  the 
carriage  would  go  round  by  another  way.  Such  dis 
turbances  were  frequent  that  winter,  but  never  seemed 
to  have  any  serious  consequences. 


CHAP,  xxi  THE  COUNTESS    OP   MONTALTO  325 

When  she  was  at  last  alone  in  her  boudoir  she  cut  the 
envelope  and  spread  out  the  sheet  it  contained.  It  was 
strange  to  be  reading  something  written  in  Castiglione's 
handwriting,  and  to  feel  that  it  was  her  duty  to  read  it. 

This  was  what  she  read :  — 

'I,  the  undersigned,  proprietor  of  a  gambling-house  in 
Via  Belsiana,  and  representing  Orlando  Schmidt,  the 
absconding  steward  of  the  Count  of  Montalto,  and  my 
accomplices  calling  themselves  Carlo  Pozzi  of  Palermo 
and  Paolo  Pizzuti  of  Messina,  do  hereby  declare  and  con 
fess  that  the  photographs  of  seven  letters,  more  or  less, 
purporting  to  be  written  by  Her  Excellency  the  Countess 
of  Montalto,  by  means  of  which  I,  and  my  aforesaid 
accomplices,  have  criminally  attempted  to  extort  money 
from  her,  are  reproduced  from  forgeries  executed  by  the 
aforesaid  Orlando  Schmidt,  who  had  surreptitiously  ob 
tained  specimens  of  Her  Excellency's  handwriting. 
Rome,  this  eleventh  day  of  January  1906. 

'RODOLFO  BLOSSE. 

f Witness:   BALDASSARE  DEL  CASTIGLIONE, 
'Piedmont  Lancers.7 

Castiglione  had  not  hesitated  to  force  the  blackmailer 
to  declare  the  letters  to  be  forgeries.  Maria  guessed  why 
he  had  done  that,  as  she  sat  reading  the  paper  a  second 
time.  He  had  suspected  Schmidt  of  having  really  forged 
such  words  as  she  would  never  have  written,  she  thought ; 
and  he  had  in  some  way  extracted  the  truth  from  the 
man  who  signed  the  paper.  In  that  case  her  danger  had 
been  even  greater  than  she  had  imagined.  What  abomi- 


326  A    LADY    OF   ROME  PART  n 

nations  might  not  have  been  forged  in  her  handwriting ! 
Yes,  Castiglione  was  a  man  of  action,  indeed,  as  the  monk 
had  said.  Poor  Montalto  had  hesitated  and  done  noth 
ing  for  days,  and  in  a  little  while  some  vile  newspaper 
would  have  scattered  broadcast  a  scandal  from  which 
no  recovery  would  have  been  possible.  But  writhin 
twenty-four  hours  after  she  had  spoken  to  Padre  Bona- 
ventura  the  man  who  loved  her  had  found  the  chief 
criminal  and  had  made  him  sign  a  document,  on  the 
strength  of  which  no  judge  would  hesitate  to  send  the 
whole  gang  to  penal  servitude.  'Witness,  Baldassare 
del  Castiglione ' ;  the  well-loved  name  rang  in  her  ears, 
the  name  of  a  man  on  whose  honour  there  was  no  slur 
before  the  world,  nor  any  in  her  inmost  thoughts  now; 
a  name  after  which  every  officer  and  non-commissioned 
officer  in  the  regiment  would  write  his  own  blindfold, 
if  need  were,  because  they  all  knew  him  and  trusted 
him. 

She  folded  the  paper  slowly,  letting  her  ringers  linger 
where  his  had  touched  it  last,  and  she  put  it  back  into 
the  cut  envelope  and  looked  at  the  seal.  It  was  the  same 
he  had  used  long  ago,  in  the  dark  ages  of  her  life  —  a 
plain,  old-fashioned  shield  with  his  simple  arms  arid  the 
motto  in  Latin :  Si  omnes  ego  non. 

Maria  knew  whence  it  was  taken,  with  but  a  slight 
change.  There  was  a  mark  in  the  margin  of  her  old 
missal  at  the  Gospel  for  Wednesday  in  Holy  Week  op 
posite  the  words,  and  the  whole  line  read,  'Though  all 
forsake  Thee,  I  will  not  forsake  Thee.'  She  had  never 
had  the  courage  to  erase  that  mark,  not  even  in  the  years 


CHAP,  xxi  THE  COUNTESS    OF    MONTALTO  327 

when  she  had  deceived  herself.  Year  after  year,  when 
the  day  came  round,  she  had  read  the  noble  words;  and 
many  times  she  had  read  them  bitterly,  thinking  of  what 
followed  afterwards  and  of  him  who,  having  spoken  them, 
denied  not  once  but  thrice,  and  with  an  oath.  She  read 
them  now  on  the  dark  wax,  under  the  bright  light,  and 
after  a  little  while  she  pressed  the  seal  gently  to  her  lips, 
the  seal  that  held  the  motto  she  loved,  not  the  paper  he 
had  touched. 

'In  all  honour/  she  said  gravely,  under  her  breath. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

SOON  after  five  o'clock  the  Duca  di  Casaimaggiore  sent 
in  his  card  to  Monsieur  de  Maurienne.  The  diplomatist 
was  engaged  in  examining  an  etching  by  Robetta  with  a 
huge  lens,  under  a  strong  light,  and  was  too  much  inter 
ested  to  desist  until  the  Colonel  was  actually  in  the  room. 
He  received  his  visitor,  whom  he  knew  very  well,  with 
that  formal  courtesy  which  is  considered  becoming  when 
an  affair  of  honour  is  to  be  discussed.  He  had  expected 
a  couple  of  officers  of  Castiglione's  rank,  and  had  asked 
two  of  his  own  friends  to  hold  themselves  in  readiness  if 
he  telephoned  for  them.  He  was  surprised  that  only  one 
representative  should  appear  for  his  adversary,  and  that 
he  should  be  no  less  a  personage  than  the  Colonel  of  the 
regiment. 

Casaimaggiore  did  not  even  seem  inclined  to  behave 
with  the  solemn  gravity  required  on  such  an  occasion. 
He  sat  down  on  a  comfortable  chair  and  laid  his  laced 
cap  unceremoniously  upon  a  little  table  he  found  at 
his  elbow,  instead  of  holding  it  in  his  hand  and  sitting  bolt 
upright  with  his  sabre  between  his  knees.  De  Mau 
rienne  thought  that  Italians  took  duelling  in  much  too 
free  and  easy  a  way,  and  he  stiffened  a  little  and  sat  very 
straight.  He  was  not  prepared  for  what  was  coming. 
Casaimaggiore  spoke  in  French. 

328 


CHAP,  xxn  THE    COUNTESS    OF    MONTALTO  329 

'I  shall  begin  by  making  a  little  apology/  he  said,  lean 
ing  back  and  folding  his  gloved  hands. 

De  Maurienne 's  eyebrows  went  up,  high  above  the 
gold  rims  of  his  glasses,  and  he  spoke  in  a  politely  icy  tone. 

'  Indeed  !  I  cannot  see  how  any  can  be  required  from 
your  side,  under  the  circumstances ! ' 

'Not    from    our    friend    Castiglione/    answered    the 
Colonel,  'but  on  my  own  behalf.     I  must  really    beg 
your  pardon  beforehand  for  what  I  am  going  to  say  - 
always  placing  myself  entirely  at  your  disposal  if  I 
should  unintentionally  offend  you.     Is  that  quite  clear  ? ' 

'Perfectly.' 

'Thank  you.  You  are  the  victim  of  an  unworthy 
trick,  my  dear  de  Maurienne.  I  am  going  to  take  the 
liberty  of  explaining  exactly  what  has  happened  to  you, 
by  giving  you  the  details  of  what  had  just  occurred  when 
you  entered  Donna  Teresa  Crescenzi's  drawing-room.' 

De  Maurienne  looked  at  his  visitor  in  surprise,  and  not 
without  some  suspicion. 

'Donna  Teresa  is  a  connection  of  mine,'  observed 
Casalmaggiore,  'and  I  know  her  extremely  well.  What 
I  have  to  say  about  her  should  not  offend  you.  Castigli 
one  came  to  me  this  afternoon  and  told  me  the  story. 
1  know  him  to  be  a  perfectly  truthful  and  honourable 
man,  and  I  know  that  he  is  incapable  of  fear.  Indeed, 
he  does  not  know  what  fear  is.' 

'Allow  me  to  say/  said  de  Maurienne,  'that  with  us, 
in  France,  matters  of  this  kind  are  discussed  between 
the  friends  of  the  principals.  Is  the  practice  different 
in  your  country?' 


330  A    LADY    OF   ROME  PART  n 

'Not  at  all.  But  this  is  quite  another  sort  of  affair. 
I,  personally,  give  you  my  word  that  what  I  am  going 
to  tell  you  is  what  really  happened.  You  will  understand 
that  if  I,  as  colonel,  give  my  word  for  that  of  one  of  my 
officers,  I  am  fully  aware  of  the  responsibility  I  under 
take.' 

'This  changes  the  aspect  of  things,  I  admit,'  said  de 
Maurienne  gravely,  but  less  coldly. 

He  had  never  been  placed  in  such  a  position,  nor  had 
he  ever  heard  of  just  such  a  case. 

'Practically,'  continued  the  Colonel,  'it  transfers  all 
the  responsibility  to  me.  I  know  Castiglione  to  be  a 
man  of  accurate  memory,  and  as  soon  as  he  was  gone  I 
wrote  down  precisely  what  he  had  told  me.  Here  it  is.' 

He  took  out  his  note-book,  found  the  place,  and 
read  aloud  a  precise  account  of  what  had  passed  between 
Teresa  Crescenzi  and  Castiglione  up  to  the  moment  when 
de  Maurienne  had  entered  the  room.  De  Maurienne 
listened  attentively. 

'  My  cousin  —  her  father  was  my  mother's  cousin  - 
is  a  very  ingenious  woman,'  concluded  Casalmaggiore 
with  a  smile,  and   pocketing   his  notes  again.     'I  am 
sorry  to  say  that  I  have  known  her  to  exhibit  her  in 
genuity  in  even  more  surprising  ways  than  this.' 

'She  told  me  that  Castiglione  had  accused  her  of 
meeting  me  in  an  equivocal  place,'  said  de  Maurienne. 

'No  doubt.  We  are  rather  afraid  of  her  in  Rome,  and 
very  much  so  in  the  family.' 

'What  is  her  object  in  all  this?' 

'I  hope  I  do  not  offend  you  by  saying  that  my  good 


CHAP,  xxn  THE    COUNTESS    OF    MONT  ALTO  331 

cousin  has  determined  to  marry  you/  answered  Casal- 
maggiore,  still  smiling  faintly.  'I  should  not  expect 
you  to  share  her  enthusiasm  on  that  point.  It  would 
not  be  precisely  tactful  of  me  to  ask  if  I  am  right,  but  I 
shall  be  so  free  as  to  take  it  for  granted.  That  being  the 
case,  you  cannot  fail  to  see  that  if  she  led  you  into  a 
duel  on  her  account,  she  would  thereby  be  forcing  you 
to  compromise  her  to  such  an  extent  that  many  persons 
would  think  you  ought  to  marry  her  as  a  matter  of 
honour.  If  a  man  even  distantly  related  to  her,  such  as 
I  myself,  for  instance,  took  up  a  quarrel  for  her,  there 
would  be  at  least  the  excuse  of  relationship,  but  there 
is  not  the  shadow  of  a  reason  why  you  should  do  such  a 
thing,  even  if  there  were  any  cause !  That  is  all  I  have 
to  say.  I  repeat  that  I  am  at  your  disposal,  if  I  have 
said  anything  to  offend  you.' 

Monsieur  de  Maurienne  was  perfectly  brave,  and 
though  he  was  no  duellist,  and  not  even  a  good  fencer, 
he  would  have  faced  the  first  swordsman  in  Europe 
without  turning  a  hair;  it  is  therefore  no  aspersion  on 
his  courage  to  say  that  he  was  afraid  to  marry  Teresa 
Crescenzi,  though  he  thought  her  very  pretty  and  amus 
ing,  if  a  little  vivid.  The  point  explained  by  the  Colonel 
had  not  escaped  him  either,  and  he  had  spent  a  very 
unpleasant  afternoon. 

He  considered  the  matter  for  a  few  moments  before 
he  spoke. 

'You  have  done  me  a  great  service,'  he  said.  'I 
have  known  Castiglione  several  months,  and,  without 
any  disrespect  to  Donna  Teresa,  I  must  say  that  I  was 


332  A    LADY   OF    ROME  PAIIT  n 

not  fully  persuaded  of  the  exactness  of  what  she  told 
me.    I  thought  your  cousin's  manner  a  little  strained  - 
let  us  put  it  in  that  way.' 

'It  is  impossible  to  speak  of  a  lady  with  greater  con 
sideration/  said  Casalmaggiore. 

'But  I  was  placed  in  a  difficult  position,  and  very 
suddenly.  Such  things  happen  now  and  then.  Per 
haps,  in  the  same  situation,  you  yourself,  or  Castiglione, 
would  have  acted  as  hastily  as  I  did.' 

'Quite  so.     Even  more  hastily,  perhaps.' 

The  Colonel  was  thinking  that  under  the  circumstances 
he  would  have  told  Donna  Teresa  exactly  what  lie 
thought  of  her,  taking  advantage  of  relationship  to  be 
extremely  plain. 

'Castiglione,'  continued  de  Maurienne,  'behaved  in 
the  most  honourable  and  forbearing  way.  I  take  great 
pleasure  in  saying  that  I  sincerely  regret  the  offensive 
expressions  I  used,  and  that  I  entertain  the  highest  re 
spect  for  him.  Will  you  permit  me  ?  I  will  write  him 
a  short  note,  by  your  kindness.' 

'Thank  you.     It  will  be  much  appreciated.' 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  Castiglione 's  orderly  re 
ceived  another  shock  to  his  nerves.  When  he  answered 
the  bell  and  saw  his  colonel  on  the  landing,  re 
splendent  in  a  perfectly  new  uniform,  the  trooper 
flattened  himself  at  attention  against  the  open  door 
with  such  precision  and  violence  that  the  back  of  his 
head  struck  the  panel  with  a  crack  like  a  pistol  shot, 
his  eyes  almost  started  out  of  his  head,  and  he  was 
completely  speechless. 


CHAP.  XXII 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  MONTALTO         333 


The  Captain  was  in  his  sitting-room,  poring  over  a 
new  German  book  on  the  functions  of  cavalry  in  war, 
and  a  well-worn  dictionary  lay  at  his  elbow.  He  started 
to  his  feet  in  surprise. 

'I  think  you  will  find  this  satisfactory/  said  Casal- 
maggiorc,  handing  him  de  Maurienne's  note  and  sitting 
down. 

Castlglione  read  the  contents  quickly,  still  standing. 

'What  in  the  world  did  you  tell  him?'  he  asked  in 
amazement. 

'The  truth/  answered  the  Colonel,  suppressing  a 
slight  yawn,  for  the  whole  affair  had  bored  him  exces 
sively.  'It  is  amazing  what  miracles  the  truth  will  per 
form  where  everything  else  fails  !  If  Teresa  could  only 
realise  that,  she  would  simplify  her  existence.  As  you 
have  not  gone  to  bed,  in  spite  of  my  advice,  come  and 
dine  with  me.  I've  got  another  idea  about  that  mare, 
and  I  should  like  to  talk  it  over  with  you.  I  think  it 
will  succeed.' 

Castiglione  laughed  a  little. 

'I  will  come  with  pleasure/  he  said.  'What  is  the 
new  idea?  I  thought  you  developed  the  subject  pretty 
fully  this  afternoon.' 

'This  has  occurred  to  me  since/  answered  Casalmag- 
giore  gravely.  He  was  silent  for  a  moment,  pursuing  his 
favourite  scheme.  'Castiglione/  he  said,  rising  suddenly 
and  looking  at  his  watch,  'if  you  ever  let  Teresa  guess 
that  I  have  interfered  with  her  plans,  I'll  court-martial 
you!' 

'Never  fear!'     The  Captain  laughed  again. 


334  A    LADY    OF  ROME  PART  n 

'As  for  leave,  I'm  glad  you  would  not  take  your  two 
days.  There  is  a  general  strike  again,  and  wre  shall  cer 
tainly  have  some  patrol  work  to  do,  if  nothing  worse. 
After  you  had  left  me  I  got  another  message  from  head 
quarters.' 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

Two  days  later  Montalto  informed  Maria  after  luncheon 
that  he  had  an  appointment  with  the  Chief  of  Police  at 
three  o'clock,  and  had  decided  to  lay  the  whole  matter 
before  him  and  to  leave  it  altogether  in  his  hands.  It 
had  taken  Montalto  almost  a  week  to  reach  this  final 
decision,  and  Maria  had  devoutly  hoped  that  he  would 
never  act  at  all.  She  thought  it  would  be  like  him  to 
put  off  doing  anything  till  he  convinced  himself  that  the 
blackmailer's  letter  had  been  an  idle  threat,  never  to  be 
put  into  execution;  but  she  was  mistaken  in  this,  for 
Montalto  never  left  quite  undone  what  he  believed  that 
it  was  his  duty  to  do,  and  in  the  present  case,  though  he 
had  been  so  slow,  he  was  really  in  much  greater  apprehen 
sion  of  a  scandal  than  Maria  understood. 

The  people  who  are  the  hardest  to  live  with  are  often 
those  who  speak  the  truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth, 
but  not  the  whole  truth.  It  is  never  possible  to  be  sure 
what  they  are  hiding  from  us  out  of  prudence  or  shyness, 
prudishness  or  delicacy;  it  is  the  most  difficult  thing  in 
the  world  to  find  out  precisely  what  they  know  and  what 
they  do  not  know,  without  putting  direct  questions  which 
would  be  little  short  of  insulting. 

Montalto  was  such  a  man.  His  power  of  keeping  his 
own  counsel  without  telling  an  untruth  was  amazing ;  and 

335 


336  A   LADY    OF   ROME  PART  n 

his  own  counsel  was  not  always  wise.  It  was  this  char 
acteristic  of  his  which  had  twice  suggested  to  Maria,  in 
moments  of  despair,  that  he  had  come  back  to  revenge 
himself  upon  her  by  systematically  torturing  her  to 
death.  Mediocrity  is  never  so  exasperating  as  when  it 
affects  to  be  inscrutable. 

1 1  have  not  thought  it  best  to  talk  much  with  you  about 
the  letters,  my  dear/  Montalto  said.  'In  such  cases  it  is 
the  man's  business  to  act.' 

Maria  smiled  faintly.  She  foresaw  much  useless 
trouble  if  he  carried  out  the  intention  he  had  been  so  long 
in  formulating,  though  she  knew  nothing  of  the  ways  of 
the  police.  For  two  whole  days  she  had  lived  in  the  cer 
tainty  that  she  was  safe,  and  the  thought  that  the  whole 
story  was  to  be  told  again,  to  a  stranger  and  by  her  hus 
band,  was  very  disturbing.  On  the  other  hand  it  seemed 
all  but  impossible  to  show  Montalto  the  blackmailer's 
confession,  written  in  Castiglione's  handwriting,  and 
signed  by  him  as  a  witness. 

'Perhaps/  she  suggested,  ' since  it  is  already  so  near 
the  eighth  day,  we  had  better  wait  until  they  write  a 
second  time,  as  the  letter  said  they  would.' 

Montalto  looked  at  her  in  surprise,  and  paused  in  the 
act  of  reconstructing  one  of  his  Havana  cigarettes. 

'Why,  my  dear?'  he  asked.  'You  yourself  urged 
me  to  act,  before  I  had  time  to  form  an  opinion,  and  you 
seemed  distressed  because  I  took  a  day  or  two  to  think 
it  over;  and  now  you  suddenly  advise  me  not  to 
act  at  all.  This  is  very  strange.  I  do  not  understand 
you.' 


CHAP.  XXII 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  MONTALTO          337 


He  waited  for  her  to  answer  him,  and  he  saw  that  she 
hesitated. 

'You  must  have  some  very  good  reason  for  changing 
your  mind  so  unexpectedly/  he  said,  in  a  discontented 
tone,  and  resumed  the  rolling  of  his  cigarette. 

Maria  felt  the  difficulty  of  the  situation,  for  which  she 
was  not  in  the  least  prepared;  she  had  been  very  sure 
that  he  would  not  do  anything  in  the  matter,  because  she 
hoped  that  he  would  not. 

'Also/  he  continued,  'why  do  you  speak  of  more  than 
one  person  ? ' 

'More  than  one?' 

'You  said:  until  "they"  write  a  second  time.  What 
reason  have  you  to  suppose  that  any  one  is  concerned  in 
this  but  Schmidt?' 

She  had  been  thinking  of  the  wording  of  the  paper, 
of  Blosse  and  his  'accomplices.' 

'The  letter  mentioned  two  other  names/  she  said. 

'I  have  no  doubt  that  Schmidt  goes  by  twenty/ 
returned  her  husband  testily.  'You  know  very  well  that 
Pozzi  and  Pizzuti  both  stand  for  Schmidt ! ' 

He  lighted  his  cigarette,  and  smoked  in  silence  for 
some  moments. 

'I  cannot  understand  why  you  have  changed  your 
mind/  he  repeated  at  last.  '  You  must  have  some  reason.7 

Maria  attempted  a  little  diplomacy. 

'Don't  you  think  a  second  letter,  if  it  should  come, 
might  give  a  better  clue  for  the  police  to  work  on,  or 
might  —  what  do  they  call  it  ?  —  strengthen  the  evidence 
against  Schmidt?' 


338  A   LADY    OF  ROME  PART  n 

1  There  is  evidence  enough  already  to  send  him 
to  penal  servitude,  if  we  can  catch  him/  answered 
Montalto.  'I  really  cannot  see  what  more  is 
needed ! ' 

'Except  that  —  to  catch  him/  suggested  Maria.  'I 
really  think  that  another  letter - 

'Absurd!'  Montalto  was  seriously  annoyed  with  her 
by  this  time.  'Something  has  happened  to  make  you 
change  your  mind.  Am  I  right  or  not  ?' 

Maria  turned  a  little  pale  and  bit  her  lip.  But  she 
would  not  tell  an  untruth. 

'Yes,  something  has  happened/  she  answered. 

'What?'  The  single  word  was  pronounced  with  a 
good  deal  of  sharpness. 

Maria  turned  to  him. 

'I  would  rather  not  tell  you/  she  said  gently.  'It  is 
quite  useless  for  you  to  go  to  the  police,  for  the  letters 
will  not  be  published.' 

She  spoke  in  a  tone  of  perfect  certainty  that  surprised 
him. 

'You  seem  very  sure/  he  said. 

'I  am  quite  sure.' 

'And  you  object  to  telling  me  why  you  are.  Very 
strange ! ' 

'I  don't  "object/'  Diego.  I  only  say  I  would  rather 
not.  I  ask  you  not  to  question  me.' 

'My  dear/  answered  Montalto,  'only  reflect  upon  what 
you  are  saying.  In  the  first  place,  you  are  a  woman, 
and  you  may  be  mistaken.' 

'I  am  not.     I  assure  you  I  am  not.' 


CHAP,  xxiii  THE    COUNTESS   OF   MONTALTO 

If  she  had  been  less  anxious  to  pacify  him  she  would 
have  asked  if  men  never  made  mistakes. 

'I  confess  I  should  like  to  judge  of  that,  considering 
that  the  honour  of  my  name  is  at  stake/  said  her  husband. 

'Your  name  is  safe,  and  mine  too.  Please,  please 
don't  ask  me  to  tell  you!' 

'Maria,  there  is  some  mystery  about  all  this,  and  I  can 
not  consent  to  let  it  go  on.  It  must  be  cleared  up.  It 
is  my  duty  to  ask  what  you  have  done  to  stop  the  publi 
cation  of  those  letters.' 

She  made  a  last  appeal. 

'You  have  forgiven  me  so  much,  Diego.     You  have 
trusted  me  so  much  !     I  only  ask  you  to  trust  me  now  - 
there  is  nothing  to  forgive!' 

'You  may  as  well  say  at  once  that  you  have  sent  a 
cheque  to  that  scoundrel,'  said  Montalto  angrily.  'You 
have  thrown  it  away.  He  still  has  the  photographs,  and 
as  soon  as  he  wants  more  money  he  will  threaten  us 
again.  I  warned  you  not  to  do  that!7 

Maria  hoped  desperately  that  if  she  remained  silent 
he  would  continue  in  this  belief.  But  the  obstinacy  of 
an  over-conscientious  person  who  has  a  '  duty '  to  perform 
is  appalling. 

'Have  you  sent  the  money?'    he  asked  severely,  as 
soon  as  he  was  sure  that  she  did  not  mean  to  say  any 
thing  in  reply. 
'No.' 

'Then  you  are  ashamed  of  what  you  have  done. 
There  is  no  other  explanation  of  your  silence,  my  dear. 
You  yourself  must  see  that.' 


340  A    LADY    OF   ROME  PART  n 

He  said  'my  dear'  in  a  tone  that  exasperated  her. 

'No/  she  cried  vehemently,  'I  have  done  nothing  to  be 
ashamed  of !  You  must  find  some  other  explanation  of 
my  silence,  if  you  insist  on  having  one ! ' 

'Your  conduct  is  so  extraordinary/  Montalto  replied, 
in  an  offended  tone,  '  that  I  can  only  account  for  it  in  one 
way.  Instead  of  trusting  to  me,  you  have  allowed  some 
one  else  to  help  you,  and  you  are  ashamed  to  tell  me  who 
the  person  is.' 

1 1  am  not  ashamed  ! '  Maria  drew  herself  up  now,  and 
her  dark  eyes  gleamed  a  little.  'But  I  will  not  tell  you  !' 

'There  is  only  one  name  you  would  be  ashamed  to  let 
me  hear  in  this  matter.  If  you  persist  in  your  silence 
I  shall  know  that  you  have  been  helped  by  Castiglione.' 

Montalto's  eyes  were  a  little  bloodshot,  and  fixed 
themselves  on  hers.  She  did  not  hesitate  any  longer. 

'I  never  lied  to  you,  and  I  am  not  ashamed  of  the 
truth/  she  answered  proudly.  'Baldassare  del  Castigli 
one  has  helped  me.' 

Until  she  had  actually  told  him  so,  in  plain  words, 
Montalto  had  wished  not  to  believe  what  he  had  guessed. 
His  face  had  been  changing  slowly,  and  now  she  saw 
once  more,  after  many  years,  the  look  it  had  worn  when 
he  had  first  accused  her,  and  she  had  bowed  her  head. 
When  he  spoke  again  she  remembered  the  tone  she  had 
not  heard  since  then. 

'As  you  are  not  ashamed  to  say  so,  I  suppose  you  will 
not  mind  telling  me  what  he  did.' 

'You  shall  see  for  yourself.' 

She  left  the  drawing-room,  and  he  sat  quite  still  dur- 


THE    COUNTESS    OF    MONTALTO  341 

ing  the  few  seconds  that  elapsed ;  quite  still,  staring  at  the 
seat  that  she  had  left.  For  he  loved  her.  When  she 
came  back  she  stood  before  him.  lie  took  the  paper 
from  her  hand  and  read  it  with  difficulty,  though  he  had 
known  the  handwriting  well  enough  in  old  times.  He 
read  it  all,  to  the  name  of  the  regiment  after  Castiglione's 
signature.  Then  he  handed  back  the  paper. 

'I  have  been  mad/  he  said  slowly  and  almost  me 
chanically. 

She  misunderstood  him. 

'You  see  that  I  was  right/  she  said.  'Your  honour  is 
safe.7 

His  face  changed  in  a  way  that  frightened  her.  She 
thought  he  was  choking.  An  instant  later  he  sprang 
to  his  feet  and  left  her  side,  pressing  both  his  hands  to 
his  ears  like  a  man  raving.  His  voice  rang  out  with  a 
mad  laugh. 

'  My  honour  ! ' 

Maria  laid  one  hand  on  the  back  of  the  chair  he  had 
left,  to  steady  herself,  for  the  shock  of  understanding  him 
was  more  than  she  could  bear.  Scarcely  knowing  that 
her  lips  moved  she  called  him  back. 

'  Diego  !     Diego  !     Hear  me  ! 

1  Hear  you  ?  Have  I  not  heard  ? '  He  turned  upon  her 
like  a  madman.  'Have  I  not  heard  and  remembered 
every  word  you  have  spoken,  those  eight  months  and 
more?  How  you  would  tear  the  memory  of  that  man 
from  your  heart  ?  How  you  called  God  to  witness  that 
you  would  forget  him?  How  you  and  he  took  an  oath 
never  to  meet  again?  Have  I  not  heard  you,  and  for- 


342  A  LADY    OF   ROME  PART  n 

given,  and  believed,  and  trusted,  and  loved  you  like  the 
miserable  fool  I  am  ?  And  you  ask  me  to  hear  you  again  ? 
Oh,  never,  never !  You  have  promised  and  you  have 
lied  to  me,  you  have  called  God  to  witness  and  you  have 
blasphemed,  you  have  asked  for  trust  and  you  have  be 
trayed  me  with  that  man  — -  and  now  you  tell  me  he  has 
saved  my  honour.  My  honour!  My  honour!' 

Maria  closed  her  eyes  and  grasped  the  chair.  But 
she  would  not  bend  her  head  to  the  storm  as  she  had 
bowed  it  long  ago. 

1 1  am  innocent.     I  have  done  none  of  these  things.' 

She  could  find  no  other  words,  and  he  would  not  have 
listened  to  more,  for  he  was  beside  himself  and  began  to 
rave  again,  wrhile  she  stood  straight  and  white  beside  the 
chair.  Sometimes  his  voice  was  thick,  as  his  fury  choked 
him,  sometimes  it  was  shrill  and  wild,  when  his  rage 
found  vent.  But  each  time,  as  he  paused,  exhausted, 
to  draw  breath,  her  words  came  to  him  calm  and  clear 
in  the  moment's  stillness. 

'I  am  innocent.' 

His  madness  subsided  by  slow  degrees,  and  then 
changed  all  at  once,  and  he  was  again  in  the  mood  she 
remembered  so  well.  He  came  and  stood  still  two 
paces  from  her,  his  eyes  all  bloodshot  but  his  face 
white. 

'How  dare  you  say  you  are  innocent?'    he  asked. 

She  held  out  the  envelope  in  which  Castiglione's  writ 
ing  had  come  to  her. 

'  It  is  addressed  to  my  confessor,  who  gave  it  to  me/  she 
said. 


CHAP,  xxm          THE    COUNTESS    OF   MONTALTO  343 

lie  came  nearer  and  steadied  his  eyes  to  read  the 
name,  for  his  sight  was  not  very  good. 

'  Do  you  think  such  a  trick  as  that  can  deceive  me  ? ' 
he  asked  with  cold  scorn. 

'Send  for  him/  said  Maria.  'Your  carriage  is  at  the 
door,  for  you  were  going  out.  Go  and  bring  him  here, 
for  he  will  come.' 

Montalto  looked  at  her  with  a  strange  expression. 

'Go  to  the  Capuchins,'  she  said  calmly.  'Ask  for 
Padre  Bonaventura,  and  bring  him  back  in  the  carriage. 
He  will  not  refuse  you.' 

'Padre  Bonaventura?  Old  Padre  Bonaventura?7 
He  repeated  the  name  in  a  dazed  tone,  for  he  knew  it 
well,  as  many  Romans  did. 

'Bring  him  here,'  Maria  said.  'He  will  tell  you  that 
it  was  he  who  went  to  Baldassare  del  Castiglione  and 
asked  his  help  and  received  this  paper  from  him  on  the 
evening  of  the  same  day.  He  will  tell  you,  too,  that  at 
the  very  moment  when  it  was  placed  in  his  hands  I  came 
for  the  answer,  and  we  met,  face  to  face,  and  looked  at 
each  other ;  but  we  did  not  speak,  and  Castiglione  went 
away  at  once.  Giuliana  Parenzo  was  with  me,  and  was 
waiting  for  me  inside  the  door;  she  saw  him  go  out  a 
moment  after  we  had  come.  Will  you  believe  her? 
If  you  still  think  I  am  not  telling  the  truth,  will  you 
believe  my  confessor?' 

While  she  was  speaking  she  looked  at  him  with  calm 
and  clear  eyes  in  the  serenity  of  perfect  innocence.  And 
all  at  once  he  broke  down  and  cried  aloud  with  a  wail 
of  agony. 


344  A    LADY    OF   ROME  PART  n 

'Maria!     What  have  1  done?' 

Then  he  was  at  her  feet,  his  arms  round  her  body,  his 
face  buried  against  her,  sobbing  like  a  woman,  as  she 
had  never  sobbed,  rocking  himself  to  and  fro  like  a  child, 
as  he  had  rocked  himself  when  he  had  first  come  back 
to  her,  kissing  her  skirt  frantically.  And  his  unmanly 
tears  ran  down  upon  the  grey  cloth. 

She  felt  a  little  sick  as  she  bent  and  tried  to  soothe 
him,  forcing  herself  to  lay  kind  hands  upon  his  head, 
and  then  gently  endeavouring  to  lift  him  to  his  feet, 
while  he  clasped  her  and  implored  her  forgiveness  in 
broken  words.  But  she  was  very  brave.  He  must  not 
guess  what  she  felt,  nor  feel  that  the  hand  that  smoothed 
his  hair  grew  cold  from  sheer  loathing  of  what  it  touched. 

There  are  women  living  who  know  what  that  is,  and 
are  brave  for  honour's  sake;  but  none  are  braver  than 
Maria  was  on  that  day.  She  would  not  leave  him  for  a 
moment,  after  that,  until  it  was  past  seven  o'clock. 
Little  by  little,  as  she  talked  and  soothed  him,  she 
brought  him  back  to  himself,  with  the  patience  that 
angels  have,  and  never  need  where  all  is  peace. 

She  had  a  respite  then,  and  Giuliana  Parenzo  and 
Monsignor  Saracinesca  came  to  dinner,  which  made  it 
easier.  Afterwards,  too,  Montalto  and  his  friend  talked 
as  usual  and  argued  about  Church  and  State,  and  no 
one  would  have  suspected  that  the  grave  and  courteous 
host,  with  his  old-time  formalities  of  manner  and  his 
rather  solemn  face,  had  raved  and  wept  and  dragged 
himself  at  his  wife's  feet  that  very  afternoon. 

The  Marchesa  was  still  inclined  to  show  Maria  a  little 


CHAP,  xxni          THE    COUNTESS    OF    MONTALTO  345 

cool  disapproval  when  she  came.  The  younger  woman 
felt  it  in  the  almost  indifferent  touch  of  her  hand,  and 
in  the  distinctly  airy  kiss  that  did  not  come  near  the 
cheek  it  was  meant  for.  The  two  had  not  seen  each  other 
since  they  had  gone  to  the  Capuchin  church  together; 
but  Giuliana,  who  was  just  and  sensible,  had  made 
several  reflections  in  the  meantime,  and  had  come  to 
the  conclusion  that,  after  all,  Maria  and  Castiglione 
might  have  met  by  chance,  though  why  in  the  world  a 
man  who  believed  in  nothing  should  happen  to  be  in 
a  church,  and  in  that  particular  one  precisely  at  that 
hour,  was  more  than  she  could  explain.  It  was  very 
odd,  but  perhaps  Baldassare  was  converted:  and  the 
good  Marchesa  said  a  little  prayer,  quite  in  earnest,  ask 
ing  that  he  might  be.  Possibly,  she  thought  immediately 
afterwards,  Maria  had  converted  him,  and  she  hoped 
this  might  be  the  case,  as  it  would  explain  so  many 
things.  Giuliana  herself  had  once  attempted  to  in 
fluence  him,  out  of  sheer  goodness  of  heart,  long  ago, 
and  had  talked  religion  to  him  in  a  corner  after  a  dinner 
party  for  a  whole  evening,  a  proceeding  which  might 
have  started  a  little  gossip  about  any  other  woman. 
She  had  tried  to  expound  the  Nicene  Creed  to  him,  article 
by  article,  but  just  as  she  reached  the  'Life  of  the  World 
to  come'  he  fell  sound  asleep  before  her  eyes,  after  one 
of  the  most  puzzling  and  painful  experiences  in  his 
recollection,  for  he  had  been  in  the  saddle  all  day  at  a 
review,  and  the  room  was  so  warm  that  it  made  him 
understand  the  Descent  into  Hell  in  the  only  sense  the 
words  had  ever  conveyed  to  him. 


346  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  n 

Confidence  was  presently  restored  between  the  friends 
and  Giuliana  began  to  talk  about  the  news  of  the  hour; 
about  strikes,  as  regarded  from  the  ministerial  point  of 
view;  about  the  probability  that  the  Ministry  would 
fall  before  Lent,  merely  on  general  principles,  because 
that  seems  to  be  the  critical  time  of  year  in  politics,  as  it 
is  for  gouty  patients;  and,  lastly,  about  Teresa  Crescenzi. 

'  I  am  not  given  to  prying  into  other  people's  affairs/ 
Giuliana  said,  '  but  I  should  really  like  to  know  the  truth 
about  her  and  de  Maurienne.' 

'I  fancy  she  will  marry  him  in  the  end,'  observed 
Maria,  rather  indifferently,  for  she  was  still  thinking 
of  the  strikes  and  the  disturbances  in  the  streets,  and 
wondering  whether  there  was  any  risk  in  sending  Leone 
all  the  way  to  school  at  the  Istituto  Massimo  every 
morning,  though  his  tutor  took  him  there  and  brought 
him  home. 

'De  Maurienne  has  left  Rome  very  suddenly,'  said 
Giuliana,  'and  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  Teresa  is  to 
be  an  "unprotected  widow"  a  little  longer.' 

'  She  must  be  growing  used  to  it ! '  Maria  laughed  a 
little. 

'The  French  Ambassador  told  Sigismondo  that  de 
Maurienne  had  asked  for  leave  very  suddenly,  and  that, 
as  he  seems  to  think  that  diplomacy  consists  in  the  study 
of  etchings,  no  objection  had  been  made.  Teresa  is 
evidently  furious.  She  says  he  told  her  that  he  was  going 
to  Paris  in  order  to  be  present  at  an  art  sale,  but  that  she 
believes  he  has  run  away  from  a  duel.  Have  you  not 
heard  that?' 


CHAP,  xxin          THE    COUNTESS    OF   MONTALTO  347 

Giuliana  looked  at  Maria  quietly,  but  saw  no  change 
in  the  warm  pallor  of  her  friend's  face,  nor  the  least 
quivering  of  the  eyelids. 

'No/  Maria  answered,  unsuspectingly.  'I  have  heard 
nothing.  Does  Teresa  say  who  it  was  that  wanted  to 
fight  with  him?' 

'  Yes,  but  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it.  She  says  it  was 
Balduccio.' 

'Why  in  the  world  should  he  quarrel  with  Monsieur 
de  Maurienne?'  Maria  turned  innocent  eyes  to  meet 
Giuliana 's. 

'Teresa  does  not  explain  that,'  laughed  the  Marchesa, 
'but  she  darkly  hints  that  the  affair  which  did  not  come 
off  concerned  herself  ! ' 

'  How  silly  she  is  ! ' 

Indeed,  the  absurdity  of  the  story  was  so  apparent, 
that  Maria  would  not  ask  any  more  questions.  She 
was  continually  doing  her  best  to  keep  Castiglione  out 
of  her  thoughts,  and  the  painful  scene  with  her  husband 
during  the  afternoon  made  it  all  the  harder  for  her. 
She  changed  the  subject. 

'Giuliana,'  she  asked,  'shall  you  let  your  boys  walk  to 
school  or  even  go  in  the  tram  while  the  strike  lasts  ? ' 

'  Oh,  yes  ! '  answered  the  Marchesa.  '  But  the  trams 
have  stopped  this  afternoon.  Have  you  not  been  out? 
The  boys  walk  in  the  morning,  for  there  is  never  any 
disturbance  till  much  later.  All  good  anarchists  dine 
comfortably,  and  often  too  well,  before  they  go  out  to  howl 
in  the  streets.' 

She  laughed  carelessly. 


348  A    LADY    OF   ROME  PART  n 

'I  daresay  you  are  right/  Maria  answered.  'I  never 
let  Leone  be  out  in  the  city  on  foot  or  in  trams  after 
luncheon.  Three  or  four  times  a  week  he  rides  with 
Diego  in  the  Campagna,  and  they  generally  go  as  far  as 
one  of  the  city  gates  in  a  cab,  but  I  always  send  Diego's 
little  brougham  to  fetch  them.  I'm  afraid  they  may 
both  catch  cold  in  a  cab  after  riding.' 

*  Your  husband  is  very  fond  of  it,  is  he  not  ? ' 

'Yes,  and  he  rides  well,  and  looks  well  on  a  horse  — 
particularly  on  that  lovely  little  Andalusian  mare  he 
brought  from  Spain.' 

'The  one  the  Duca  di  Casalmaggiore  is  so  anxious  to 
buy?'  inquired  Giuliana. 

'  The  Colonel  of  the  Piedmont  Lancers  ? '  Maria  won 
dered  whether  her  friend  was  trying  to  lead  the  conver 
sation  back  to  Castiglione  again.  'I  did  not  know  he 
wanted  her.' 

'  My  dear !  He  thinks  of  nothing  else !  He  would 
like  to  make  it  an  affair  of  State.  The  other  day  he 
came  to  see  Sigismondo  and  talked  about  the  mare  for 
three-quarters  of  an  hour,  trying  to  induce  him  to  use 
his  influence  with  me,  to  use  my  influence  with  you,  to 
use  your  influence  with  your  husband,  to  induce  him 
to  sell  the  Andalusian  for  twenty  thousand  francs !  I 
think  he  must  be  quite  mad !  It  is  an  enormous  price 
for  a  saddle-horse,  and  he  has  offered  it  through  half  a 
dozen  people.  I  wonder  that  Diego  should  not  have 
spoken  of  it  to  you.' 

'He  never  tells  me  anything,'  Maria  replied.  'But 
I  can  guess  what  he  must  have  answered.  He  probably 


CHAP,  xxin          THE    COUNTESS    OF    MOXTALTO  349 

said  that  the  Count  of  Montalto  buys  horses  but  does  not 
sell  them ! ' 

Giuliana  laughed. 

'  I  did  not  know  you  could  be  so  malicious,  Maria ! 
That  is  precisely  what  he  did  say.' 

'I  did  not  mean  to  say  anything  disagreeable,  I'm 
sure/  returned  Maria.  'That  is  Diego's  way;  he  is 
old-fashioned.  The  idea  that  a  Count  of  the  Holy 
Roman  Empire  could  possibly  sell  anything  never  oc 
curred  to  him.' 

'My  father  is  just  like  him  in  that,'  observed  Giuliana. 

'So  was  mine!  It  is  the  reason  why  he  left  me  only 
just  enough  to  live  comfortably,  instead  of  several  mill 
ions.  If  I  had  not  been  his  only  child  we  should  have 
starved ! ' 

'We  were  ten,  and  nine  of  us  are  alive.'     Giuliana 
laughed.     'When  my  father  and  mother  were  sixty - 
you  know  they  are  just   the  same  age  —  there  were 
thirty-two  at  table,  between  us  and  our  children!' 

'Look  at  the  Saracinesca  family,'  said  Maria.  'Old 
Prince  Giovanni  was  an  only  son,  I  believe,  and  now 
they  are  like  the  sands  by  the  sea !  As  far  as  numbers 
go,  there  is  no  fear  of  the  old  Roman  families  dying  out ! ' 

'  Your  husband  was  an  only  son,  was  he  not  ? '  Giuliana 
asked. 

'Yes.' 

'And  you  have  only-  — '  The  Marchesa  checked 
herself  —  'yes,'  she  concluded  with  that  extreme  vague 
ness  that  comes  over  us  all  when  we  have  half  said  some 
thing  quite  tactless. 


350  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  n 

But  Maria  chose  to  complete  the  thought. 

'Yes/  she  said  quietly,  but  not  at  all  vaguely.  'Do 
you  wonder  that  I  am  anxious  about  letting  my  only 
child  go  about  on  foot  when  there  are  strikes  ? ' 

'No,  dear,  I  don't  wonder  at  all,  though  I  do  not 
think  there  is  any  real  danger.' 

'I  suppose  presentiments  are  very  foolish/  Maria 
observed  thoughtfully.  'Do  they  ever  trouble  you, 
Giuliana  ? ' 

'Not  often.  But  I  remember  once  being  oppressed 
with  the  certainty  that  Sigismondo  was  going  to  die 
in  the  course  of  the  winter.  It  haunted  me  day  and 
night  for  weeks  and  weeks.  I  used  to  dream  that  he  was 
lying  dead  on  the  dining-room  table.  It  was  always  the 
dining-room  table,  and  at  last  I  got  nervous  about  sitting 
down  at  it.' 

'Well?  Did  anything  happen?'  Maria  seemed  in 
terested. 

'Oh,  yes!  The  children  had  the  mumps.'  She  spoke 
thoughtfully. 

Very  sensible  people  who  are  by  no  means  stupid 
sometimes  say  things  that  would  disgrace  an  idiot  child. 
But  Maria  did  not  laugh. 

'The  other  night,  after  I  had  left  you/  she  said,  'there 
was  some  sort  of  demonstration  in  the  Piazza  di  Venezia, 
and  the  carriage  stopped  a  moment  before  turning  an 
other  way.  A  man  looked  through  the  window,  trying 
to  see  me  in  the  dark.  I  could  see  him  plainly  under  the 
electric  light.  It  was  a  horrible  face,  flattened  against 
the  pane,  and  though  I  did  not  pay  much  attention  to  it 


CHAP,  xxin          THE    COUNTESS    OF   MONTALTO  351 

at  the  time,  it  comes  back  to  me  and  frightens  me  when 
I  know  that  Leone  is  out  in  the  streets  with  his  tutor. 
Perhaps  he  is  only  going  to  have  the  mumps ! ' 

She  tried  to  laugii  now. 

'A  tutor  is  generally  supposed  to  be  a  sufficient  pro 
tection  for  a  boy/  observed  Giuliana,  not  much  impressed. 
'Yours  is  a  good-sized  man  too,  and  Sigismondo  always 
says  that  keeping  order  in  a  city  depends  on  the  delusion 
that  big  men  are  more  dangerous  than  short  men.  At 
all  events  most  people  think  they  are,  and  your  tutor 
looks  like  an  ex-carabineer.' 

'I'm  sure  he  is  a  coward/  said  Maria  nervously.  'He 
would  think  only  of  saving  himself  if  there  were  any 
danger !  I'm  sure  of  it.' 

'It's  all  imagination,  my  dear/  said  the  practical  Mar- 
chesa.  '  Your  love  for  the  boy  makes  you  fancy  that  all 
sorts  of  impossible  things  are  going  to  happen  to  him.' 

'Giuliana  —  perhaps  I'm  very  foolish  to  be  made 
wretched  by  a  presentiment,  but  if  any  harm  came  to 
Leone  — 

She  stopped  short.  The  conventional  phrase  'I 
should  die '  was  on  her  lips,  but  before  it  was  spoken  she 
realised  that  it  meant  nothing  to  her,  and  checked  herself. 

'  Of  course,  of  course  ! '  answered  Giuliana  in  a  motherly 
tone.  'I  quite  understand  that.  I'm  fond  of  my  chil 
dren,  too;  I  know  just  what  you  feel.' 

'It's  not  the  same  for  you,  Giuliana/  said  Maria  in  a 
low  tone.  'I've  only  Leone,  you  know.' 

'Leone  and  your  husband/  corrected  Unassailable  Vir 
tue. 


352  A   LADY   OF   ROME  PART  n 

'Yes,  Leone  and  my  husband.7 

Maria  did  not  resent  the  correction.  Even  Giuliana 
did  not  suspect  that  she  was  desperately  unhappy  in 
more  ways  than  one,  and  it  was  better  so ;  but  she  silently 
thought  of  what  her  life  would  be  if  Leone  were  taken 
and  her  husband  were  left. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE  strike  was  an  obstinate  one,  and  lasted  longer  than 
had  been  expected.  This  story  is  not  concerned  with  the 
theories  or  the  practices  of  the  so-called  Chamber  of 
Labour  in  Italy.  It  is  enough  to  say  that  the  organisa 
tion  has  neither  the  importance  nor  the  intelligence  of 
similar  bodies  in  other  great  countries,  and  that  instead 
of  tending  to  the  scientific  socialism  of  Bebel,  its  leaders, 
or  its  tyrants,  are  distinctly  of  the  anarchist  class,  and  all 
they  know  about  the  French  Revolution  is  that  it  had 
a  Reign  of  Terror  which  they  hanker  to  restore.  There 
are  true  socialists  in  Italy,  as  there  are  many  true  re 
publicans,  but  they  must  not  be  classed  with  the  raving 
rowdies  who  force  honest  workmen  to  leave  their  work 
and  who  howl  and  thr  w  stones  in  the  streets.  Beyond 
this,  nothing  need  be  said  about  the  general  strike  during 
which  the  Countess  of  Montalto  was  haunted  by  a  tor 
menting  presentiment  that  something  dreadful  was  going 
to  happen  to  her  son. 

The  facts,  so  far  as  they  affected  her,  were  simple 
enough.  During  some  days  the  instigators  of  disturb 
ance  appeared  at  more  or  less  regular  hours,  chiefly  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  the  Piazza  di  Venezia,  where  they 
made  wild  and  foolish  speeches  that  stirred  up  a  row 
which  occasionally  led  to  the  throwing  of  a  few  stones. 

2  A  353 


354  A    LADY    OF   ROME  PART  n 

The  city  police  and  the  foot  carabineers  then  appeared 
to  disperse  the  crowd,  and  generally  succeeded  in  doing 
so  without  trouble  when  it  was  ready  for  its  supper,  or 
tired  of  its  amusement,  or  had  any  sufficient  reason  for 
going  home.  There  was  not  much  more  spirit  in  the 
whole  thing  than  there  used  to  be  in  the  last  days  of 
town-and-gown  rows  in  Oxford  and  Cambridge.  But 
such  as  the  disturbances  were,  they  had  become  a  great 
nuisance,  and  the  strike  itself  was  extremely  irritating 
to  all  the  better  classes,  to  whom  it  was  a  source  of  great 
inconvenience. 

The  city  authorities  asked  Headquarters  for  troops, 
Headquarters  asked  the  War  Office,  the  War  Office  asked 
the  Ministry,  and  the  Ministry,  being  rather  shaky  just 
then,  did  nothing  in  particular.  Nevertheless,  the  orders 
usual  at  such  times  were  quietly  issued,  the  troops  in 
garrison  were  in  readiness  if  needed,  and  no  more  leave 
was  granted  to  officers  or  men. 

Meanwhile  the  Romans  grew  tired  of  the  whole  sense 
less  affair,  by  which  everybody  was  losing  money  and  no 
body  was  gaining  anything,  and  the  more  respectable 
citizens  felt  that  it  was  time  that  lawT  and  order  should  be 
restored.  The  simplest  plan,  since  no  troops  were  forth 
coming,  seemed  to  be  to  help  the  police  in  arresting 
rioters  who  objected  to  being  handcuffed ;  for  the  police 
men  did  their  best,  and  on  the  whole  did  well,  with  a  good 
deal  of  forbearance,  but  the  result  was  not  always  satis 
factory,  and  many  of  the  force  were  more  or  less  badly 
hurt ;  very  few  were  hit  by  bullets,  for  a  revolver  is  one 
of  the  safest  playthings  in  the  world  except  when  every- 


CHAP,  xxiv  THE    COUNTESS    OF    MONTALTO  355 

body  is  quite  sure  that  it  is  not  loaded,  and  then  it  usually 
kills  some  one  on  the  spot ;  but  a  good  many  men  were 
badly  wounded  by  stones,  some  were  severely  beaten, 
and  several  were  stabbed. 

On  the  day  when  Giuliana  dined  with  her  friend  it  had 
happened  that  two  policemen  were  trying  to  secure  a 
big  rioter  who  defended  himself  vigorously  with  a  stout 
blackthorn  stick,  and  they  were  getting  the  worst  of  it. 
The  hour  was  just  after  twelve  o'clock,  when  a  number 
of  Government  clerks  had  left  a  neighbouring  public 
office  together,  to  get  their  mid-day  meal  at  an  eating- 
house;  and  they  stopped  in  a  body  and  watched  the  fight. 

One  of  the  policemen  received  a  blow  that  almost  broke 
his  arm,  but  the  other  almost  immediately  caught  the 
striker's  heavy  stick  and  tried  to  wrench  it  away;  and 
still  the  knot  of  Government  clerks  watched  the  struggle. 
In  sheer  exasperation  the  man  who  had  been  hurt  spoke 
to  the  bystanders. 

'You  might  help  us,  instead  of  standing  there  looking 
on  P  he  cried. 

The  little  body  of  respectable  men,  who  had  supposed 
that  they  had  no  right  to  interfere,  did  not  need  any 
further  invitation.  They  sprang  forward,  threw  the 
man  down,  and  proceeded  to  administer  a  sound  thrash 
ing  with  their  sticks,  after  which  they  held  him  while  the 
astonished  and  delighted  policeman  slipped  on  the  hand 
cuffs.  Not  feeling  that  their  duty  ended  there,  the  clerks 
followed  quietly  in  a  body  till  they  saw  the  prisoner 
passed  into  the  nearest  police  station ;  after  which  they 
went  to  lunch. 


356  A    LADY    OF   HOME  PART  n 

The  matter  did  not  end  there.  The  news  of  what  they 
had  done  spread  from  mouth  to  mouth  in  a  few  hours7  and 
their  example  was  followed  by  other  citizens.  The  po 
licemen  went  about  in  pairs,  and  before  night  each  couple 
of  them  was  under  the  protection  of  a  dozen  or  fifteen 
sober,  respectable  citizens,  who  walked  behind  at  some 
distance,  chatting  and  smoking,  but  armed  with  service 
able  sticks.  The  police  scored  no  more  failures  in  effect 
ing  arrests  during  the  afternoon,  and  there  was  no  crowd 
in  the  Piazza  di  Venezia  at  sunset. 

But  the  matter  did  not  end  there  either.  If  the  citi 
zens  protected  the  police,  the  Chamber  of  Labour,  as  it 
calls  itself,  would  protect  the  rowdies.  They  needed  it 
too,  for  on  the  next  morning  the  citizens  wrent  about  in 
considerable  force,  and  when  they  came  upon  a  sus 
picious-looking  individual  they  asked  him  civilly  if  he 
were  a  striker.  If  he  answered  in  the  affirmative  they 
gave  him  a  good  drubbing  and  left  him  to  his  meditations. 
In  most  cases  the  man  denied  the  imputation  indignantly 
and  made  off  at  a  round  pace.  The  decent  working  men 
stayed  at  home,  as  they  had  done  from  the  beginning, 
and  mourned  the  hour  wrhen  they  had  joined  the  Cham 
ber  of  Labour. 

The  rowdies  showed  fight,  in  accordance  with  the  reso 
lutions  passed  on  the  previous  evening,  and  began  to 
parade  the  streets  in  bands,  many  of  them  carrying  re 
volvers  in  their  pockets,  and  a  good  many  armed  with 
the  much  more  dangerous  knife,  which  Alphonse  Karr 
used  to  call  the  'weapon  of  precision.'  The  citizens  had 
only  their  sticks,  but  they  made  good  use  of  them.  They 


CHAP,  xxiv          THE    COUNTESS    OF    MONTALTO  357 

meant  to  represent  law  and  order,  and  knives  and  pistols 
are  forbidden  weapons.  Excepting  the  places  where  the 
two  parties  were  actually  in  collision,  the  city  was  silent. 
The  shops  opening  directly  on  the  pavement  were  shut; 
the  cabmen,  who  belonged  to  the  Chamber  of  Labour, 
were  also  on  strike,  but  most  of  them,  as  it  afterwards 
turned  out,  were  having  a  quiet  holiday  in  the  country. 
The  trams  were  not  running,  for  drivers  and  conductors 
belonged  to  the  organisation,  and  the  Municipality  or 
the  Government  wras  afraid  to  man  the  cars  with  sol 
diers.  A  few  private  carriages  were  to  be  seen,  but  the 
ooccupants  as  well  as  the  coachmen  were  in  considerable 
danger. 

Nevertheless,  a  good  many  people  walked  about  as  if 
nothing  were  happening.  It  was  not  a  revolution;  the 
Government  offices  and  schools  were  open,  the  strikers 
had  no  reason  for  interfering  with  the  postal  telegraph 
offices,  and  the  railway-men  could  no  longer  strike  be 
cause  a  recent  law  had  decreed  that  they  were  not  work 
ing  men  but  Government  servants.  The  trains  therefore 
ran  regularly ;  almost  all  the  banks  were  open  and  were 
protected  by  policemen  in  plain  clothes ;  the  Pincio  and 
the  Villa  Borghese  wrere  almost  as  full  of  nurses  and  chil 
dren  as  usual  on  a  fine  winter's  day,  and  officers  and 
civilians  exercised  their  horses  on  the  small  course  and 
in  the  meadow  within  the  ring.  Altogether,  the  state  of 
things  would  have  looked  rather  contradictory  anywrhere 
but  in  Rome,  where  it  seems  as  if  nothing  can  ever  happen 
in  the  ordinary  way.  If  any  truthful  and  industrious 
person  like  Villani,  or  Sanudo  of  Venice,  is  quietly  keep- 


358  A    LADY    OF   ROME  PART  n 

ing  a  chronicle  of  daily  events  in  Rome  at  the  present 
day,  and  if  his  manuscript  comes  to  light  fifty  years  hence, 
he  will  not  be  believed.  It  is  true  that  all  industrious 
persons  are  not  truthful,  but  since  Aristotle  admits  that 
even  a  woman  or  a  slave  may  possibly  be  good,  some  good- 
natured  people  will  perhaps  allow  that  a  novelist  may 
sometimes  write  the  truth. 

Maria  had  passed  a  wretched  night.  After  the  two 
guests  had  gone  Montalto  had  come  to  her  room  and  had 
poured  out  all  his  remorse  for  his  mad  conduct,  entreat 
ing  her  over  and  over  again  to  forgive  him,  not  breaking 
down  in  tears,  but  overwhelming  her  with  every  assur 
ance  and  proof  of  his  almost  insane  love.  It  was  late 
when  he  left  her  at  last,  but  she  could  not  sleep  then. 
Every  nerve  in  her  body  was  quivering  from  the  effort 
of  self-control,  her  teeth  were  on  edge,  and  when  she 
closed  her  weary  eyes  she  saw  wheels  of  fire.  She  had 
gone  to  the  chapel  in  her  nightdress  to  say  her  prayers, 
heedless  of  the  cold  air  and  the  icy  marble  pavement, 
and  she  had  knelt  there  more  than  half  an  hour,  trying 
to  recover  herself ;  not  that  she  could  think  much  of  the 
words  her  lips  silently  formed,  but  because  the  solemn 
stillness  helped  her,  and  the  restful  certainty  that  noth 
ing  of  what  she  had  left  behind  could  touch  her  there. 

She  went  back  to  her  room,  and  after  three  o'clock  she 
fell  asleep  from  utter  exhaustion,  because  she  was  really 
a  very  sound  and  normal  woman,  and  the  human 
machine  had  run  down,  like  a  clock.  Men  have  slept 
in  battle. 

Yet  her  natural  elasticity  was  so  great  that  in  the 


CHAP,  xxiv          THE    COUNTESS    OF    MONTALTO  359 

morning,  when  she  glanced  at  her  face  in  the  looking- 
glass,  she  saw  that  it  hardly  looked  tired.  There  was 
only  a  slightly  deeper  shadow  under  her  eyes  to  show  that 
she  had  not  slept  enough,  and  that  would  soon  go  away, 
and  she  would  be  quite  herself  again. 

She  had  not  dreamt  that  anything  had  happened  to 
Leone,  for  she  had  been  too  worn  out  to  dream  at  all, 
and  she  was  a  little  ashamed  of  her  presentiments  and 
fears.  The  weather  never  affected  her  very  much,  but 
the  sun  was  streaming  into  her  room  with  the  crisp  morn 
ing  air,  and  she  had  opened  both  windows  wide  to  let 
out  the  stale  odour  of  a  cigarette  her  husband  had 
smoked  before  he  left  her.  The  smell  of  his  Havana 
cigarettes  had  always  been  intensely  disagreeable  to  her, 
though  she  would  not  let  him  guess  it,  and  this  morning 
it  seemed  positively  nauseous.  There  was  the  nasty 
little  end  of  one  of  them,  with  some  ashes,  in  a  little  silver 
dish  which  she  emptied  into  the  fireplace;  then  she 
blew  into  it,  and  poured  some  lavender  water  into  it, 
and  dried  it  out  with  a  handkerchief  before  she  rang 
for  her  maid. 

That  was  instinctive.  She  always  did  it  when  he  had 
smoked  in  her  room  at  night,  and  she  was  unconscious 
that  it  meant  anything  more  than  she  had  intended  it  to 
mean  when  she  had  done  it  for  the  first  time,  many 
months  ago,  on  the  morning  after  his  return  to  Rome. 
But  somehow  the  process  had  become  symbolical,  though 
she  did  not  know  that  it  had;  it  signified  getting  rid  of 
the  recollection  of  his  presence. 

She  asked  her  maid  if  Leone  had  gone  to  school  yet, 


360  A   LADY    OF   ROME  PART  n 

and  was  told  that  he  and  his  tutor  had  left  the  house  at 
the  usual  hour.  The  maid  had  heard  the  tutor  ask  a 
footman  whether  the  Count  was  awake,  and  on  learning 
that  he  had  not  rung  for  his  valet,  the  tutor  inquired 
whether  any  orders  had  been  left  about  taking  Leone 
to  school.  The  Count  had  left  none,  the  footman  said, 
and  went  on  with  his  work. 

Maria  asked  if  the  maid  had  heard  any  noises  in  the 
street  or  the  square,  or  anything  like  rioting.  The  maid 
smiled.  At  that  hour  in  the  morning !  How  could  her 
mistress  think  of  such  a  thing  ? 

As  if,  because  Rome  is  an  old-fashioned  city,  street- 
fights  could  only  take  place  decently,  and  at  regular 
hours !  But  Maria  felt  reassured  by  the  woman's 
tone,  and  remembered  how  confidently  her  friend  had 
spoken  in  the  evening.  One  of  her  reasons  for  liking 
Giuliana  so  much  was  that  she  was  so  solidly  sensible, 
and  so  sensibly  good.  Teresa  Crescenzi  had  once  said 
before  a  gay  party  in  the  old  days  that  it  was  of  no  use 
to  have  Giuliana's  face  and  figure  if  you  were  going  to 
be  a  monster  of  virtue,  and  when  Maria  had  made  a  half- 
laughing  retort  Teresa  had  said  that  Maria  did  not  look 
upon  Giuliana  as  a  necessity,  nor  as  a  luxury,  but  as  a 
comfort;  which  was  to  some  extent  true;  and  Teresa 
had  gone  on  to  say  it  was  a  pure  waste  of  good  material 
that  anybody  who  was  so  impeccably  virtuous  as  the 
Marchesa  should  know  how  to  dress  so  well;  and  every 
one  had  laughed. 

Maria  had  her  tiny  breakfast  in  her  boudoir,  tea  and 
a  slice  of  toast  with  an  infinitesimal  layer  of  butter,  after 


CHAP,  xxiv          THE    COUNTESS    OF   MONTALTO  361 

the  way  of  most  southern  people,  and  she  felt  better  able 
to  face  the  day  than  had  seemed  possible  when  she  had 
fallen  asleep  after  three  o'clock.  She  had  brought  with 
her  from  Via  San  Martino  the  little  service  she  had  used 
during  so  many  years,  and  the  sight  of  it  in  the  morn 
ing  always  revived  the  momentary  illusion  of  freedom. 
Memory  loves  to  play  with  toys  —  perhaps  because  it 
knows  how  to  use  the  knife  so  well. 

The  small  meal  occupied  her  longer  than  usual;  she 
filled  her  cup  a  second  time  and  took  another  little  bit 
of  toast.  The  hour  had  come  when  she  usually  went  to 
say  good  morning  to  her  husband  in  his  study,  but  she 
had  risen  late,  according  to  her  own  ideas,  and  the  time 
had  come  too  soon.  But  if  she  did  not  go  to  him,  he 
would  presently  come  to  her  to  ask  in  a  petulantly 
affectionate  way  whether  she  had  forgotten  him.  To-day 
he  would  perhaps  think  that  she  had  not  quite  forgiven 
him  for  yesterday's  scene,  and  there  would  be  another. 
The  thought  chilled  her,  and  she  touched  the  button  of 
the  bell  —  a  pretty  button  Giuliana  had  given  her, 
made  of  a  cat's-eye  set  in  a  small  block  of  Chinese  jade 
that  lay  on  the  corner  of  the  table.  The  maid  came  to 
take  away  the  things. 

1  Is  the  Count  in  his  study  ? '  inquired  Maria.  '  Please 
ask.' 

But  the  maid  knew  that  he  had  not  rung  for  his  man, 
and  was  probably  still  asleep;  for  a  person  who  had 
applied  for  the  vacant  place  of  steward  was  waiting  in 
the  ante-chamber,  though  he  had  come  at  ten  o'clock, 
by  appointment,  to  be  interviewed  by  the  Count.  In 


362  A    LADY    OF   ROME  PART  n 

fact,  the  valet  had  suggested  to  the  maid  that  she  might 
ask  her  mistress  whether  it  would  not  be  better  to  wake 
his  Excellency,  as  it  was  so  late,  and  he  did  not  like  to 
oversleep  himself. 

'Not  yet/  answered  the  Countess.  'Let  him  sleep 
half  an  hour  longer.' 

But  she  was  surprised  to  learn  how  late  it  was,  and 
glanced  at  her  old  travelling  clock;  Montalto  now  and 
then  stayed  in  bed  till  nearly  eleven,  however,  and  she 
was  glad  to  be  alone  some  time  longer.  As  he  had  given 
an  appointment  to  a  man  of  business,  whom  he  would 
certainly  see  as  soon  as  he  was  ready,  it  \vas  quite  pos 
sible  that  she  might  be  left  to  herself  till  luncheon  time. 
There  were  a  number  of  little  things  she  wished  to  do, 
and  she  began  to  occupy  herself  with  them.  Though  it 
was  the  fourteenth  of  January  she  had  not  yet  changed 
the  calendar  cards  for  the  year  in  the  shabby  little  silver 
stand  she  had  used  so  long.  The  new  ones  needed  clip 
ping,  in  order  to  fit  the  old-fashioned  frame  that  had  been 
made  for  a  sort  no  longer  to  be  had.  The  note-paper  in 
the  upright  case  on  the  writing-table  was  almost  finished 
too,  and  she  replenished  it  from  a  closet  in  her  dressing- 
room.  She  was  used  to  doing  all  such  things  for  herself, 
and  kept  her  own  stock  of  writing  materials  in  neat 
order. 

These  and  other  small  matters  occupied  her  for  some 
time.  She  was  fitting  a  new  piece  of  pencil  into  her 
sliding  pencil-case  when  loud  shouts  from  the  square 
made  her  turn  her  head  towards  the  window.  Then  two 
pistol  shots  followed,  and  there  was  a  moment's  silence. 


CHAP,  xxiv  THE  COUNTESS  OF   MONTALTO  363 

She  dropped  the  pencil  and  ran  to  the  window,  and  as 
she  reached  it  the  savage  shouting  rang  again  through 
the  square.  She  saw  fifty  or  sixty  men  fighting  each 
other,  their  sticks  flourishing,  their  hats  flying  in  all 
directions,  their  arms  and  legs  struggling  confusedly. 
Instantly  she  thought  of  Leone.  Giuliana  had  said  there 
were  never  any  disturbances  till  late  in  the  afternoon, 
and  her  maid  had  smiled  at  the  mere  idea  that  anything 
of  the  kind  could  happen  before  noon;  yet  there  was 
fighting  going  on  already,  under  her  window.  She 
strained  her  eyes  to  find  her  boy  and  his  tall  tutor  in  the 
crowd,  and  opened  the  window  to  see  more  clearly. 
They  were  not  in  sight  —  of  course  not !  Leone  was  at 
school,  and  the  tutor  was  at  the  public  library,  where 
he  spent  his  mornings  in  study.  But  they  must  come 
home  for  luncheon,  all  the  way  from  the  Istituto  Mas 
simo,  near  the  station,  down  to  the  heart  of  Rome ;  and 
they  might  be  caught  in  a  fight  anywhere.  She  was 
certain  that  the  tutor  was  a  coward. 

Something  must  be  done  at  once  to  get  the  boy  home 
in  safety.  She  would  telephone  to  the  school  that  he 
was  to  wait  there,  and  she  would  go  for  him  herself. 
She  was  quite  sure  she  could  protect  him  much  better 
than  any  man  could.  Who  would  attack  a  lady  in  her 
carriage  ?  Leone  should  sit  at  her  feet  in  the  bottom 
of  the  brougham,  in  case  a  stone  should  break  one  of  the 
windows.  She  could  trust  old  Telemaco,  her  own  coach 
man,  for  she  had  seen  him  in  trouble  with  vicious  horses, 
and  he  was  cool  and  resolute;  a  man  who  is  not  afraid 
of  a  horse  is  generally  fairly  courageous  in  other  ways. 


364  A    LADY    OF   ROME  PART  n 

She  would  tell  her  husband  what  she  was  going  to  do. 
No  —  he  was  still  asleep.  Yet  it  might  be  better  to 
wake  him  —  it  was  so  late.  Probably  he  would  insist 
on  fetching  Leone  himself,  but  she  would  go  with  him; 
perhaps  he  would  be  angry  if  she  went  alone.  The  first 
thing  was  to  telephone. 

The  instrument  was  in  the  broad  passage  upon  which 
the  doors  of  Montalto's  bedroom  and  dressing-room 
opened.  They  were  double  doors,  practically  sound 
proof,  and  it  was  not  likely  that  her  voice  at  the  tele 
phone  should  wake  him.  She  rang,  and  asked  for  the 
Istituto  Massimo,  and  after  waiting  some  time  she  was 
in  communication  with  the  porter  of  the  school.  He  told 
her  that  it  was  closed,  owing  to  the  disturbances. 

Her  heart  stopped,  and  then  beat  quickly.  With 
difficulty  she  asked  if  Leone  and  his  tutor  had  been  seen. 
Yes,  they  had  come  at  the  usual  time,  like  many  other 
boys  whose  parents  had  not  seen  the  notice  in  the  papers. 
The  notice  had  been  inserted  in  all  the  principal  even 
ing  ones  yesterday.  The  'little  Count,'  as  the  porter 
called  the  boy,  had  gone  away  again  with  the  tutor. 
That  was  at  half-past  eight.  There  had  been  very  little 
disturbance  in  that  quarter  of  the  city  as  yet.  The 
porter  could  tell  her  nothing  more. 

Half-past  eight,  and  it  was  now  nearly  eleven !  Maria 
felt  dizzy,  and  held  her  hand  upon  the  telephone  after 
she  had  rung  off  the  communication.  Her  husband's 
bedroom  door  was  just  opposite  her,  and  she  knew  that 
she  must  call  him  now.  He  would  not  forgive  her  if 
she  did  not,  and  he  would  be  right. 


CHAP.    XXIV 


THE  COUNTESS    OF    MONTALTO  365 


She  tapped  upon  the  panel  rather  sharply.  No  an 
swer.  She  knocked  much  louder,  but  no  sound  came, 
though  she  felt  a  little  pain  in  her  knuckles.  The  double 
door  was  well  made.  Rather  timidly  she  tried  it,  and 
found  it  locked.  She  had  never  entered  Moritalto's 
room  since  he  had  come  back,  and  she  wondered  whether 
there  were  any  means  of  waking  him,  but  his  valet  must 
know  this,  and  there  was  no  time  to  be  lost.  The  man 
always  waited  in  a  little  room  further  down  the  passage, 
where  he  cleaned  his  master's  things,  and  where  the  bed 
room  bell  rang.  It  was  there  that  the  maid  always 
found  him  when  Maria  wished  her  husband  to  receive 
any  message  from  her  immediately  on  waking.  She 
went  forward  a  few  steps,  not  remembering  which  was  the 
door,  and  she  called  the  servant.  He  came  out  directly, 
in  evident  surprise. 

'We  must  wake  my  husband/  she  said.  'I  must 
speak  to  him  at  once ;  but  I  have  knocked  and  tried  the 
door,  and  he  does  not  answer.  Is  there  any  way  of 
reaching  him?' 

The  servant  produced  a  key  from  his  pocket. 

'  His  Excellency  fastens  the  bedroom  door  inside,  and 
I  lock  the  dressing-room.  The  door  between  the  rooms 
is  never  locked.' 

'Go  in  and  wake  your  master  gently  — he  may  be 
nervous  and  tired.  Tell  him  I  wish  to  speak  to 
him.' 

The  man  obeyed,  and  Maria  waited  on  the  threshold 
of  the  dressing-room.  The  smell  of  stale  Havana  cigar 
ettes  which  she  so  much  detested  had  met  her  as  the 


366  A   LADY    OF   ROME  PART  n 

door  opened.  The  sun  was  shining  in,  for  the  valet  had 
already  opened  the  blinds,  lighted  the  fire,  prepared  the 
tub,  and  laid  out  the  clothes.  He  pushed  the  bedroom 
door  on  its  hinges  without  noise  arid  entered  in  the  dark 
to  open  the  window.  Maria  waited,  and  her  eyes  fell 
upon  a  faded  photograph  of  herself,  taken  soon  after  she 
had  been  married.  It  stood  in  a  gilt  frame  on  the  dress 
ing-table  on  one  side  of  the  mirror.  On  the  other  was  one 
of  Montalto's  mother,  in  court  dress,  with  her  coronet. 
The  frame  was  black  and  there  was  a  white  cross  upon 
the  lower  edge. 

While  Maria  was  looking  at  these  things  she  uncon 
sciously  listened  as  the  valet  softly  called  his  master, 
softly  at  first,  then  louder  —  then  a  third  time,  with  a 
kind  of  frightened  cry.  But  there  was  no  answer,  and 
Maria  pressed  her  hand  to  her  heart  in  sudden  terror. 
The  man  appeared  at  the  door  with  white  face  and  start 
ing  eyes,  but  he  could  not  speak,  and  an  instant  later 
Maria  rushed  past  him  into  the  bedroom.  The  servant's 
terrified  cry,  his  livid  face,  his  speechless  horror,  all  told 
her  that  her  husband  must  be  dead. 

She  was  at  the  bedside  now,  bending  down  and  calling 
him,  softly  at  first,  then  louder,  for  he  was  breathing 
heavily ;  but  he  did  not  hear,  he  did  not  even  stir.  Maria 
did  not  cry  out,  for  she  was  not  frightened  now;  only 
she  did  not  understand.  The  valet  was  beside  her,  pale 
and  scared. 

'He  sleeps  very  heavily,'  she  said,  lowering  her  voice 
instinctively,  but  without  the  least  tremor.  'Have  you 
ever  seen  him  sleep  like  this?' 


CHAP.  XXIV 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  MONTALTO          367 


The  servant  looked  at  her  strangely,  and  his  words 
broke  out,  loud  and  sudden. 

'Excellency —  don't  you  see?    It  is   an  apoplexy! 
I've  seen  it  before.' 
'  An  apoplexy ! ' 

She  repeated  the  word  slowly  with  a  wondering  horror, 
and  drew  back  from  the  bedside,  gazing  at  the  dark, 
unconscious,  upturned  face,  the  dreadful,  half-opened 
eyes,  the  knotted  arteries  and  veins  at  the  temple  that 
was  towards  her. 

'It  came  in  his  sleep,'  the  servant  said,  in  an  awed  tone. 
'Yes.'     Maria    was    recovering    her    senses.     'Tele 
phone  for  the  doctor  at  once.     Tell  him  what  has  hap 
pened.     I  will  stay  here.' 

The  man  went  out,  still  much  more  frightened  than 
she  was,  for  there  is  nothing,  not  death  itself,  which  the 
Italians  of  the  lower  classes  dread  so  much  as  apoplexy. 
Maria  smoothed  the  unconscious  and  paralysed  man's 
pillow,  and  drew  the  bed-clothes  up  under  his  pointed 
grey  beard,  for  the  room  was  cold.  That  was  all  she 
could  do,  and  when  she  had  done  it  she  stood  upright, 
with  folded  hands,  looking  steadily  at  the  dark  and  con 
gested  face. 

Little  as  she  knew  of  such  things,  she  had  heard  that 
apoplexy  was  often  brought  on  by  violent  fits  of  anger 
and  other  great  emotions,  and  the  long  habit  of  self-accu 
sation  made  her  ask  her  conscience  whether  the  terrible 
catastrophe  had  not  come  through  her  fault.  In  some 
way  it  must  be  so,  she  was  sure,  with  all  that  was  to  fol 
low.  People  often  recovered,  even  from  a  bad  stroke, 


368  A    LADY    OF   ROME  PART  n 

far  enough  to  drag  on  a  wretched  existence  for  years, 
half  paralysed,  half  speechless,  or  altogether  both,  but 
fully  conscious.  She  would  take  care  of  him  faithfully; 
better  that  than  —  she  checked  the  mere  thought.  It 
was  worse  to  be  freed  thus,  by  the  suffering  he  was  to 
bear,  than  to  fear  the  sound  of  his  step,  to  dread  his 
touch,  to  feel  her  flesh  creep  at  his  caress.  It  must  be 
worse.  She  must  make  herself  understand  that  it  was. 
What  was  all  her  expiation  worth  if  she  was  so  inhu 
manly  cruel  as  to  think  of  her  own  bodily  freedom 
now?  She  had  prayed  for  strength  to  bear,  not  for 
liberation  from  the  terrible  bond  of  wifehood.  Was 
this  God's  answer  ?  Never  !  This  was  fate,  sudden,  aw 
ful,  leaping  into  her  life  to  make  her  think  evil  against 
her  will,  to  cut  short  the  punishment  she  should  have 
borne  patiently  for  many  years  to  come.  She  had  not 
suffered  enough  yet,  not  half  enough ! 

With  some  confused  thought  of  imposing  a  duty  on 
herself,  she  bent  down  and  kissed  her  husband's  forehead. 
At  the  same  moment  the  servant  came  back,  and  when 
she  stood  up  again  he  was  beside  her.  The  doctor  would 
come  at  once,  he  said,  but  he  would  have  to  walk,  as  no 
carriage  was  safe  in  the  streets. 

For  a  few  moments  she  had  forgotten  Leone,  out  in  the 
city,  somewhere,  with  his  tutor,  and  at  the  thought,  with 
her  eyes  fixed  on  her  husband's  senseless  form,  she  felt 
that  she  might  go  mad.  Could  she  leave  him  now, 
without  a  doctor,  without  a  nurse  ?  Might  he  not  wake, 
suddenly  conscious  for  an  instant,  to  die  calling  for  her  ? 
She  knew  nothing  definite  about  such  things,  but  she 


CHAP,  xxiv          THE    COUNTESS    OF    MONTALTO  369 

vaguely  remembered  hearing  that  dying  people  some 
times  revived  for  a  few  moments  before  the  end. 

Yet,  if  she  did  not  leave  him,  who  would  find  Leone  ? 
For  she  was  sure  she  could  find  her  boy,  and  she  only, 
somewhere  in  Rome,  and  protect  him  and  bring  him 
home.  Of  all  she  had  suffered  in  her  suffering  life  those 
moments  were  the  worst.  She  spoke  to  the  servant  in 
sheer  desperation,  to  hear  her  own  voice. 

'Can  we  do  nothing  till  the  doctor  comes?'  she  asked. 
'Do  you  know  of  anything  that  ought  to  be  done?' 

But  the  man  was  at  a  loss.  He  spoke  confusedly 
of  leeches,  ice,  and  mustard  plasters.  Then  he  remem 
bered  that  there  was  a  chemist's  shop  at  the  corner  of  the 
square ;  there  might  be  a  doctor  there,  or  some  one  who 
knew  what  to  do.  When  people  were  hurt  or  had  a  sun 
stroke  in  the  street  they  were  always  carried  to  the  chem 
ist's,  unless  there  were  a  regular  ambulance-station  near. 

Maria  grasped  at  the  idea  and  sent  him  instantly,  and 
she  was  again  alone  by  the  bedside.  But  she  could  not 
think  now ;  since  fear  for  the  child  had  taken  possession 
of  her,  there  was  not  room  for  anything  else.  She  stood 
motionless  for  more  than  five  minutes,  not  even  notic 
ing  the  sound  of  low  voices  at  the  outer  door  of  the  next 
room ;  for  the  servant  had  told  the  footman  in  the  hall 
what  had  happened  as  he  hurried  out  on  his  errand,  and 
the  whole  household  had  soon  gathered  in  the  passage. 

Then  Maria  felt  that  some  one  was  beside  her,  and  she 
looked  up  and  saw  a  young  man  with  a  grave,  fair  face, 
who  bent  over  the  bed  without  so  much  as  speaking. 
'It  is  a  severe  stroke  of  apoplexy/  he  said,  standing 

2B 


370  A    LADY   OF    ROME  PART  11 

upright  again  and  looking  at  her.  'You  must  send  for 
ice  at  once.' 

'There  is  an  ice-box  in  the  house/  said  the  valet,  who 
had  entered  the  room  with  the  young  doctor,  and  he  went 
away  quickly  to  procure  what  was  needed. 

'  Will  he  be  conscious  again  ? '  Maria  asked  in  a  low 
voice. 

'Perhaps,  but  probably  not  for  two  or  three  days.' 

'Can  I  be  of  any  use?  Do  you  need  me  here?  We 
have  telephoned  for  our  doctor.' 

The  young  man  looked  at  her  in  some  surprise. 

'No,'  he  said,  'I  will  do  what  can  be  done,  if  you  prefer 
to  leave  the  room.' 

'I  am  afraid  my  little  boy  is  lost  in  the  streets,'  Maria 
answered.  'I  am  in  great  anxiety.  I  must  go  out  and 
find  him.' 

The  young  man  understood  the  look  in  her  face 
now. 

'I  will  stay  here  till  the  doctor  comes,'  he  said  in  a 
different  tone.  'Will  you  kindly  send  one  of  your  ser 
vants  to  help  me  ?  It  will  be  better  to  move  the  patient. 
His  head  is  much  too  low.' 

'I  can  help  you  to  do  that,'  Maria  answered.  'I  would 
rather  help  you  myself.  I  am  quite  strong  enough.' 

Between  them  they  raised  the  unconscious  man,  and 
propped  him  with  pillows  and  cushions  till  he  was  almost 
in  a  sitting  posture. 

'That  is  all,'  said  the  doctor.  'You  can  do  nothing 
more.  I  will  see  to  the  rest.' 

She  thanked  him  and  went  out  quickly,  and  the  ser- 


CHAP,  xxiv          THE    COUNTESS  OF  MONT  ALTO  371 

vants  made  way  for  her  with  sorrowful  respect,  for  they 
all  loved  her, 

'  Go  in  and  help, '  she  said  to  old  Agostino,  and  passed  on. 

She  hastened  to  her  own  room  and  put  on  a  hat  and  a 
coat,  the  first  she  could  find,  and  she  took  money  and 
went  through  the  endless  rooms  to  the  hall.  It  was 
deserted.  Even  the  footman  on  duty  was  with  the  rest. 
But  she  went  straight  to  the  door.  Her  feet  moved  me 
chanically  and  swiftly,  and  she  felt  that  she  was  guided 
by  a  mysterious  power  which  would  lead  her  to  her  child 
without  fail  by  the  shortest  way. 

She  ran  down  the  first  flight  of  stairs  to  the  wide  land 
ing,  and  as  she  turned  the  corner  of  the  great  wall  that 
divided  the  staircase  she  almost  fell  against  Leone's  tutor, 
who  was  running  up,  two  steps  at  a  time. 

'Alone?'    she  cried  in  utmost  horror. 

'Leone  is  safe.'     He  was  almost  breathless. 

'Safe?    Where?' 

She  did  not  believe  him,  and  she  saw  that  his  right  arm 
was  in  a  sling  made  of  coarse  black  cotton. 

'He  is  in  the  barracks  of  the  Piedmont  Lancers.  I 
came  as  quickly  as  I  could,  for  I  thought  you  and  the 
Count  might  have  heard  - 

'  Yes,  yes !  But  why  there  ?  What  happened  ?  Tell 
me  quickly  !  Is  he  hurt?' 

'Not  a  hair  of  his  head.' 

Maria  breathed  again,  and  leant  against  the  wall, 
closing  her  eyes  for  a  moment.  When  she  opened  them 
again  she  looked  at  the  sling  and  saw  the  end  of  a  splint 
and  a  bit  of  white  bandage. 


372  A   LADY   OF  ROME  PART  n 

'  But  you  are  hurt  ? ' 

'My  arm  is  broken.  I  stopped  at  an  ambulance-sta 
tion  and  got  it  more  or  less  set,  because  I  could  not  run 
with  it  hanging  down.  The  pain  was  too  great.  It 
took  some  time,  I'm  sorry  to  say.' 

Maria  remembered  that  she  had  believed  the  tutor  to 
be  a  cowrard. 

'I  am  very  grateful  to  you/  she  said  earnestly.  'Only 
tell  me  what  I  am  to  do  about  getting  Leone  home.  How 
did  he  get  to  the  barracks  ?  Are  you  in  great  pain  ? ' 

'Oh,  no/  answered  the  tutor  courageously,  and  he  told 
his  story  in  few  words. 

On  finding  the  school  shut  because  riots  were  feared, 
he  had  thought  it  dangerous  to  bring  Leone  home 
through  the  city  on  foot,  as  they  had  come.  The  boy 
was  now  nine  years  old,  and  a  good  walker  for  his  age, 
and  the  tutor  had  thought  that  by  following  the  walls 
of  the  city  from  the  station,  round  to  the  further  side  of 
the  Palatine,  they  would  be  sure  to  keep  out  of  any  dis 
turbances  that  might  be  going  on.  Leone  had  been  de 
lighted  at  the  prospect,  and  they  had  started  at  once  and 
encountered  no  rioters  till  they  came  to  Porta  Maggiore, 
when  they  suddenly  found  themselves  caught  between  an 
angry  crowd  of  labouring  men,  many  of  whom  live  in  that 
quarter,  and  a  band  of  citizens  who  came  in  sight  just 
then,  armed  with  their  sticks.  The  rioters  charged  upon 
the  latter  as  soon  as  they  appeared.  The  tutor  told 
Leone  to  run  behind  the  citizens  for  safety,  while  he 
himself  stood  his  ground  to  cover  the  boy's  retreat. 
Fortunately  Leone  obeyed,  but  the  tutor  soon  found  him- 


CHAP.  XXIV 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  MONTALTO          373 


self  in  the  thick  of  the  most  serious  fight  that  took  place 
while  the  strike  lasted.  It  was  interrupted  by  the  unex 
pected  arrival  on  the  scene  of  half  a  troop  of  the  Piedmont 
Lancers,  whose  quarters  were  then  in  that  region.  The 
troopers  charged  upon  the  rioters,  and  belaboured  them 
with  the  flat  of  their  sabres  till  they  took  to  flight.  To 
the  tutor's  surprise,  the  officer  in  command  recognised 
Leone,  and  seemed  much  concerned  that  he  should  have 
been  so  near  danger.  He  said  he  would  take  charge  of 
him,  and  keep  him  at  the  barracks  all  day,  as  the  city 
was  not  safe  anywhere ;  he  added  that  he  knew  the  lad's 
father  and  mother,  and  he  gave  his  own  name.  The 
tutor  did  not  remember  to  have  heard  it  before  except 
in  history  and  hoped  that  he  had  done  right. 

'Quite  right,'  Maria  answered.  'I  have  known  the 
Conte  del  Castiglione  a  long  time.' 

She  turned  back  and  went  up  the  stairs  with  the  tutor 
and  told  him  of  what  had  happened.  Then  she  went  to 
her  husband's  bedside  again,  calm  and  collected. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

NATURE  was  merciful  to  Montalto.  Strong  men  have 
lived  paralysed  for  years  after  a  stroke  of  apoplexy,  in 
full  consciousness,  yet  unable  to  communicate  their 
thoughts  to  others;  but  Montalto  was  not  very  strong, 
and  he  never  awoke  from  the  sleep  in  which  his  wife 
found  him.  On  the  fifth  day  the  heart  stopped  beating, 
and  that  was  the  end. 

There  was  no  pain,  no  lucid  moment,  no  harrowing  fare 
well.  It  was  the  woman  who  endured  all  that  a  woman 
can  bear,  during  those  five  days,  not  knowing  but  that 
he  might  come  back  to  drag  out  a  long  and  miserable 
existence,  not  daring  to  pray  that  he  might  die,  lest  she 
should  be  praying  for  her  own  freedom,  yet  for  his  sake 
not  daring  to  ask  that  he  might  live  and  suffer.  It  was 
not  until  all  was  over  that  the  last  chance  of  that  went 
out  with  life  itself. 

Maria  had  refused  to  see  any  one.  Three  times  Giu- 
liana  came  to  the  palace  and  asked  if  she  could  be  of  any 
use,  but  the  answer  was  always  the  same  :  the  Countess 
thanked  her  friend,  but  could  not  see  her.  Monsignor 
Saracinesca  came  twice,  and  he  was  admitted  to  the  sick 
room  ;  but  Maria  would  not  be  present,  and  Don  Ippolito 
made  no  attempt  to  disturb  her  privacy.  It  was  only  at 
rare  intervals  that  she  left  her  husband's  side  for  a  short 
time,  until  he  was  dead.  Each  day,  with  the  thought  of 

374 


CHAP,  xxv     THE  COUNTESS  OF  MONTALTO         375 

imposing  a  duty  upon  herself  which  he  would  expect, 
she  bent  down  and  kissed  his  forehead;  when  it  was 
finished  she  kissed  him  once  more,  she  knelt  beside  his 
body  half  an  hour,  and  then  went  quietly  out  of  the  room. 

She  had  done  what  she  could ;  so  far  as  in  her  lay,  the 
expiation  was  complete;  she  might  have  done  a  little 
more  if  life  had  lingered  a  little  longer ;  yet,  as  she  closed 
her  eyes,  she  asked  herself  whether  she  had  done  enough, 
and  afterwards  she  remembered  fancying  that  a  cool 
breath  of  peace  fanned  her  burning  forehead  for  a  mo 
ment  before  she  fell  asleep  on  a  little  lounge  in  her  dress 
ing-room. 

She  awoke  in  bed  at  night,  and  it  seemed  strange  that 
there  should  be  a  soft  light  in  the  room,  for  she  had  al 
ways  slept  in  the  dark.  Perhaps  the  light  was  only  in 
her  imagination,  after  all,  for  when  she  tried  to  turn  her 
head  on  the  pillow  the  glimmer  seemed  to  go  out  and  she 
fell  asleep  again.  Once  more  she  awoke,  and  it  was  still 
there,  and  a  nursing  sister  with  a  nun's  wimple  and  a  dark 
blue  veil  was  leaning  over  her.  She  tried  to  speak,  but 
she  was  so  very  weak  that  she  heard  no  sound,  but  only 
a  sort  of  lisping  whisper.  The  nurse  bent  nearer  to  her 
lips,  and  she  tried  to  speak  again. 

'Have  I  been  asleep  long?'  She  could  just  whisper 
that, 

'You  have  been  very  dangerously  ill  for  a  long  time. 
You  must  not  try  to  talk.' 

The  soft  dark  eyes  looked  up  to  the  gentle  face  in  won 
der,  and  the  lips  moved  again. 

'Leone?'     Only  that  word  as  a  question. 


376  A    LADY    OF    ROME  PART  n 

'  Quite,  quite  well,  in  Frascati  with  his  tutor.  We  ex 
change  news  every  day.' 

Sleep  again,  quick  and  soft,  and  after  that  waking 
and  sleep  by  day  and  night,  with  gradual  return  to 
thought  and  life,  till  she  knew  what  had  happened  to  her, 
and  was  at  last  well  enough  to  see  Leone  for  a  few 
minutes. 

He  looked  strangely  tall  in  his  new  black  clothes,  and 
when  she  had  kissed  him  and  had  held  his  face  before  her 
a  moment  between  her  beautiful  thin  hands,  he  gazed  at 
her  a  long  time  very  thoughtfully. 

'The  doctors  said  you  were  going  to  die,'  he  observed 
at  last,  'but  the  Captain  said  you  wouldn't.  I  believed 
the  Captain.' 

'What  captain,  dear?' 

1  Why,  Captain  Castiglione,  of  course.  He's  my  friend 
now.' 

A  faint  warmth  rose  in  Maria's  wasted  cheeks. 

'I  thought  you  had  been  in  Frascati,'  she  said. 

'Yes.  But  the  Captain  has  been  out  to  see  me  three 
times  a  week.  Didn't  they  tell  you  ?  Sundays,  Wednes 
days,  and  Fridays.  He  said  he  thought  you  wouldn't 
mind,  because  it  was  rather  lonely  for  me  out  there  with 
a  man  like  my  tutor,  who  can't  ride  and  had  a  broken  arm. 
He's  given  me  a  dog.  We're  great  friends.  Papa  was 
going  to  give  me  a  dog,  you  know.' 

The  last  sentence  was  spoken  in  a  lower  tone,  very 
seriously  and  with  a  sort  of  awe. 

'Yes,  dear,'  Maria  answered  gravely,  for  she  did  not 
know  what  to  say. 


CHAP,  xxv  THE    COUNTESS   OF   MONTALTO  377 

The  handsome  boy  sat  down  and  held  her  white  hands 
affectionately  in  his  brown  ones,  and  his  bright  blue  eyes 
gazed  quietly  at  her. 

'I  miss  papa  dreadfully/  he  said.     'Don't  you?7 

'His  death  has  made  a  very  great  change  in  my  life/ 
she  answered. 

'I  couldn't  believe  it  at  first/  said  Leone.  'When  I 
did,  I  just  couldn't  stand  it.  I  went  and  shut  myself 
up  in  my  room  all  day  and  thought  about  him/ 

'  Perhaps  that  was  the  best  thing  you  could  have  done, 
dear.' 

'What  did  you  do  after  he  was  dead,  mother?  I 
want  to  know.' 

'I  fell  ill  at  once/  Maria  answered.  'I  thought  I  was 
only  falling  asleep,  and  I  knew  nothing  for  more  than  a 
fortnight.' 

'  Yes.     But  before  that,  did  you  cry  much  ? ' 

'No,  dear.  I  was  quite  worn  out,  for  I  had  scarcely 
left  him  since  he  had  fallen  ill.  When  he  did  not  breathe 
any  more,  I  kissed  him  and  prayed,  and  then  came  to 
my  own  room.  After  that  I  remember  nothing.' 

Leone  looked  at  her  thoughtfully  and  rather  sadly. 

'I  wanted  to  know/  he  said  after  a  while. 

Maria's  maid  came  to  the  door  and  said  the  tutor  was 
waiting  to  take  his  Excellency  for  his  afternoon  walk. 
The  nurse  had  sent  her,  thinking  that  Maria  would  be 
tired. 

'Why  do  they  call  me  "Excellency"  every  minute?' 
Leone  asked.  'They  hardly  ever  used  to.  Of  course, 
I'm  growing  up  —  but  still ' 


378  A   LADY    OF    ROME  PART  n 

'  Though  you  are  only  a  boy,  they  look  upon  you  as 
the  master  now,  because  there  is  no  one  else.' 

'Am  I  really  the  master  of  Montalto,  as  papa  said  I 
should  be?' 

'I  suppose  so,  dear.'  Maria  spoke  a  little  wearily. 
'You  must  go  out  for  your  walk  now,  and  to-morrow 
you  shall  come  again  and  stay  longer.' 

'Yes,  much  longer  !  Do  you  think  it  would  cheer  you 
up  to  see  my  dog  to  morrow?  You  must  be  dreadfully 
lonely  all  day.  I'll  lend  him  to  you,  if  you  like.' 

Maria  smiled. 

'Bring  him  with  you  to-morrow,  if  he  is  a  cheerful 
little  dog,'  she  answered,  and  she  nearly  laughed  for  the 
first  time  in  many  weeks. 

Leone  looked  at  her  with  satisfaction. 

'You're  going  to  get  well  very  soon,'  he  said  in  a  tone 
of  patronising  conviction.  'Good-bye.' 

She  watched  him  as  he  crossed  the  room  to  the  door. 
He  was  thinner  and  taller,  but  he  looked  square  and 
tough.  He  already  had  the  figure  of  a  little  man,  and 
at  the  back  of  his  neck,  above  the  broad  turned-down 
collar,  the  short  and  thick  brown  hair  seemed  trying  to 
curl  more  vigorously  than  ever.  Maria  saw  it  and  shut 
her  eyes. 

She  was  still  very  weak,  for  it  sometimes  takes  a  long 
time  to  recover  from  brain  fever,  but  she  gained  daily. 
Giuliana  Parenzo  came  and  spent  long  hours  in  the  room, 
for  she  was  a  healthy,  soothing  woman,  who  made  no 
noise  and  told  Maria  just  how  she  wanted  to  know, 
asking  no  questions  about  how  she  felt. 


CHAP,  xxv  THE    COUNTESS    OF   MONTALTO 

At  last  they  began  to  drive  out  together,  near  the  end 
of  February,  when  the  almond-trees  were  in  blossom 
and  there  was  a  breath  of  spring  in  the  air. 

One  day  they  were  in  the  Campagna  and  almost  in 
sight  of  Acqua  Santa,  on  the  New  Appian,  and  neither 
had  spoken  for  some  time.  Giuliana  broke  the  silence. 

'I  have  a  great  admiration  for  you,  Maria/  she  said. 
'I  mean,  quite  apart  from  our  friendship.  I  did  you  a 
great  injustice  in  my  thoughts  at  the  beginning  of  the 
winter,  and  I  want  to  tell  you  how  sorry  I  am.  You 
have  been  very  brave  and  good  all  through  this.' 

'Thank  you,  Giuliana.'  Maria  touched  her  friend's 
hand  affectionately. 

'I'm  not  the  only  one  of  your  friends  who  thinks  so, 
either.  Shall  I  repeat  something  that  Ippolito  Sara- 
cinesca  told  me  the  other  day?' 

'If  it  is  kind,  tell  me.     I  am  not  quite  strong  yet.' 

'It  may  make  a  difference  to  you  to  know  it.  It 
ought  to  please  you.  Do  you  remember  that  Ippolito 
and  I  dined  with  you  the  night  before  your  husband  fell 
ill?' 

'Indeed  I  do!' 

'And  they  argued,  as  usual,  but  afterwards  they 
talked  in  a  low  voice.' 

'I  remember  that  too.' 

'Poor  Diego  was  talking  about  you.  He  said  that 
whatever  trouble  there  had  ever  been  between  you  was 
forgotten  and  forgiven.  He  said  that  you  had  made 
him  absolutely  and  unspeakably  happy  ever  since  he  had 
come  back  to  you,  and  that  he  wished  he  could  have  made 


380  A    LADY   OF    ROME  PART  n 

your  life  such  a  heaven  as  you  had  made  his;  that  his 
unfortunate  temper  must  have  often  irritated  you  and 
hurt  you,  but  that  he  believed  you  had  always  forgiven 
him.' 

Maria's  eyes  filled  with  tears,  as  they  sometimes  did. 

'Thank  you  for  telling  me  that,'  she  said.  'It  does 
make  a  difference.' 

'Ippolito  never  sawr  him  conscious  again.  Those 
must  have  been  almost  the  last  words  he  ever  spoke.' 

'Almost/  echoed  Maria,  remembering  that  night. 

'But  there  is  something  else/  Giuliana  said.  'Shall 
I  tell  you?  There  is  just  one  thing  more/ 

'Does  Don  Ippolito  wish  me  to  know  it?  He  was 
Diego's  best  friend.' 

'Yes.  He  thinks  it  will  be  easier  —  I  mean,  it  will 
seem  more  natural  —  if  it  comes  through  me.  Ippolito 
will  never  feel  that  he  knows  you  very  well.  You  under 
stand,  don't  you,  dear?' 

'Certainly.  Go  on,  please.'  Maria  prepared  herself 
for  a  shock. 

'Last  Christmas  Eve  Diego  went  to  see  him,  and 
placed  in  his  hands  a  letter,  to  be  given  to  you  in  case 
of  his  death.  We  have  not  thought  you  were  well 
enough  to  have  it  until  now.  Your  husband  told  Ip 
polito  what  is  in  the  letter  in  case  it  were  ever  lost,  and 
Ippolito  thought  best  to  tell  me,  so  that  you  may  know 
beforehand  what  it  is  about.  You  are  strong  enough 
now.' 

'Yes/  Maria  said,  but  she  turned  a  shade  whiter.  'I 
can  bear  anything  now ! ' 


CHAP,  xxv  THE   COUNTESS   OF   MONTALTO  381 

'It  ought  to  relieve  you  rather  than  pain  you/  answered 
Giuliana.  'The  letter  is  meant  to  give  you  his  full  con 
sent  to  marry  again,  in  case  he  died.  But  he  added  - 

Telemaco  suddenly  checked  his  horses  to  a  walk  at 
the  steep  hill,  and  it  was  impossible  for  Giuliana  to  go 
on  talking  in  the  low  phaeton  without  being  heard, 
unless  she  spoke  in  a  foreign  language.  Maria  grew 
whiter. 

'A  little  faster/  said  Giuliana  to  the  coachman.  'You 
can  stop  at  the  top  of  the  hill.' 

The  New  Appian  Road  is  paved  throughout,  and  the 
horses'  hoofs  began  to  clatter  on  the  stones  again.  Maria 
waited  to  hear  the  rest. 

'He  added  that  if  you  married  again  he  thought  it 
would  be  your  duty  to  marry  Baldassare  —  your  duty 
before  God  and  your  duty  to  society.  Yes,  dear,  what  did 
you  say  ? ' 

Maria  had  uttered  a  little  exclamation  and  had  turned 
her  face  quite  away. 

For  the  first  time  since  her  friend  had  known  her  the 
tears  overflowed,  and  Giuliana,  leaning  forwards  a  little, 
could  just  see  two  glistening  drops  on  her  pale  cheek. 
When  Maria  turned  again  she  shook  her  head  slowly. 

'No/  she  said  in  a  low  voice.  'It  is  too  much,  it  is 
too  generous.  I  must  never  marry  him.  I  must  never 
think  of  him  again.  I  promised  Diego  that  I  would  tear 
the  memory  from  my  heart,  and  I  must.  God  help  me, 
for  I  must.' 

Giuliana  opened  her  little  bag,  a  marvel  of  workman 
ship  fresh  from  Paris. 


382  A    LADY    OF   ROME  PART  n 

'Here  is  the  letter,  Maria/  she  said.  'You  must  have 
it  now,  for  it  freely  gives  you  back  the  promise  you  made. 
Read  it  when  you  are  alone.7 

Maria  took  the  letter  in  silence ;  and  under  her  black 
fur-lined  cloak,  heavy  with  crape,  she  loosened  her  dress 
and  laid  the  sealed  envelope  upon  her  bare  neck,  a 
little  to  the  left,  where  she  had  laid  the  letter  the  monk 
had  given  her  from  Castlglione,  some  two  months  ago, 
that  seemed  like  ages  of  ages  now. 

Just  then  the  horses  stopped  at  the  top  of  the  hill, 
where  a  lane  turns  to  the  right,  leading  to  Acqua  Santa 
and  the  golf  links.  A  large  closed  carriage  with  black 
horses  and  plain  black  liveries  was  coming  rapidly  from 
the  opposite  direction. 

As  it  passed  the  phaeton  Giuliana  and  Maria  bowed 
far  forwards,  for  there  was  a  cardinal  inside  whom  they 
both  knew,  an  old  man  and  a  good  one.  In  answer  to 
their  salutation  he  smiled,  and  Maria  saw  the  aged  hand, 
white  and  ungloved,  lifted  at  the  open  window  to  give 
,a  blessing  that  might  have  seemed  prophetic  just  then. 
****** 

Months  have  passed  since  that  afternoon  and  many 
things  have  happened.  Casalmaggiore  never  got  the 
Andalusian  mare,  for  only  Leone  rides  her,  and  he  would 
not  part  with  her  for  anything.  Monsieur  de  Maurienne 
never  came  back  from  Paris,  but  managed  to  be  sent  to 
Vienna  instead,  and  Donna  Teresa  is  still  an  unprotected 
widow.  The  Countess  of  Montalto  is  herself  again,  and 
still  in  half-mourning  for  her  husband. 

During  these  hot  August  days  she  is  living  quietly  at 


CHAP,  xxv  THE   COUNTESS   OF  MONTALTO  383' 

Montalto  with  Leone  and  his  tutor;  for  she  felt  that 
if  she  did  not  come  to  the  place  now  it  would  be  harder 
to  come  back  later  and  face  its  associations ;  and  besides, 
Leone  is  to  be  the  master  when  he  is  grown  up,  and  he 
must  begin  to  learn  what  that  means. 

He  comes  in  at  tea-time,  a  straight,  square  boy  in  well- 
worn  riding  clothes,  his  fox-terrier  at  his  heels. 

'I  wish  the  Captain  were  here,  mama/  he  says 
suddenly.  'It  would  be  such  fun  to  ride  together.  I 
don't  see  why  you  shouldn't  ask  him  for  a  few  days.' 

'Not  now,  little  man,'  says  Maria,  pouring  out  the 
boy's  tea.  '  But  perhaps  he  may  come  another  year  and 
stay  a  long  time.' 

She  rises  and  sets  the  cup  on  a  little  table  beside  him 
with  a  good  slice  of  bread  and  butter,  and  she  stands 
over  him  as  if  to  make  him  eat  and  drink.  But  when  he 
bends  his  handsome  head  she  stoops  and  kisses  the  back 
of  his  sturdy  neck  where  the  short  brown  hair  is  always 
doing  its  very  best  to  curl. 

NOTE.  —  The  <  Piedmont  Lancers,'  to  which  Cas- 
tiglione  belonged,  are  purely  imaginary,  and  are  "by 
no  means  meant  for  the  'Piedmont  Kegiment,7 
which  would  be  more  rightly  classed  with  the 
Dragoons. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

I  CAN  DEPT.  i 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


LD  21-100m-6,'56 
(B9311slO)476 


General  Library     _ 
University  of  California 
Berkeley 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


